"Shifting Reflection: From Alastor to Loona, A Hellhound's Transformation"
1 Points
In the labyrinthine corridors of Hell, where the very air seemed to pulse with the energy of bygone sins, Alastor the Radio Demon prowled. His ever-present grin gleamed in the emerald gloom, and his stride was the very personification of confidence. He twirled his sentient microphone cane, a low chuckle resonating from his chest.
"Ah, Hell is a delightful canvas," Alastor mused aloud, his voice a velvety transatlantic symphony. "And I, its most ardent artist."
Yet, something peculiar tugged at the fringes of his senses—a prickling sensation he couldn't ignore. As he turned a corner into an alcove bathed in an eerie crimson light, he saw it: an ancient mirror, its frame crawling with arcane runes, seemingly calling out, compelling him to gaze into its depths.
With an indulgent smile, Alastor approached. "Well, what have we here? A relic of mysterious providence?"
He peered into the mirror, and his reflection stared back, wearing the same smug smile. But then, the image rippled and warped, giving way to a hulking, hellhound figure—a female with a snarling, beautifully savage visage. His grin faltered. A surge of power unseen in eons suddenly coiled around him, ensnaring him like a vice.
"Pfft, a cheap parlor trick!" Alastor scoffed, though there was an edge of unease in his voice. His attempts to pull away were futile as the mirror's magic gripped him tighter, his limbs trembling under the strain.
The reflection of the hellhound in the mirror seemed to solidify, gaining dimension and color. Alastor's eyes widened with a rare sense of dread as his form began to shift.
"No! I am Alastor, the Radio Demon! I—"
His protest was cut short by the sound of his voice warping, lower and more guttural. His elongated limbs began to contract, bones rearranging with a wet *crack* and *snap*. His body shrank visibly, shedding height and bulk as he regressed into the form of a younger being.
The ache through his entire body turned searing, an inferno coursing through his veins. His skin morphed into fur, white and grey sprouting like wild underbrush. His mouth extended into a pointed muzzle, teeth reshaping into sharper, predatory fangs. He felt the lace of his monocle break and fall away as his eyes shifted hue and structure—red sclera, white irises. Before he could comprehend, his antlers retracted into his skull with an excruciating *snap*.
"What... what is happening to me?" His voice now trembled, alien to him, higher in pitch. He doubled over as his lower torso distorted, hips broadening with a bizarre mix of pain and reticent pleasure. His gloved hands, now paw-like with black claws, clenched into the soil.
The most visceral of the changes followed as his testicles and penis retracted into his body with a sickening *pop*, followed by the sensation of organs restructuring—a uterus, ovaries claiming space in a body that no longer felt like his own. His chest tingled, then writhed as breasts formed under the torn remains of his crimson coat, now transforming into tattered grey attire.
"Heck," he managed to muster, the voice sounding unlike him—no, not a 'he' anymore—her, strangely familiar and infuriatingly lazy. Memories, unbidden, flooded into her mind: a piercing gaze from an imp named Blitzo, the messy office of Immediate Murder Professionals, her mocking disdain towards Moxxie.
"No... No!" she howled, fighting a mental battle on an unforgiving battlefield. But each recollection of malice, gory pleasure, and radio-bound revelry faded as quickly as a dying radio signal.
"Fuck, this is such bullshit," she growled as the last remnants of Alastor's essence disappeared into the recesses of oblivion. Slowly, grudgingly, she got to her digitigrade paws and sneered. She was no longer Alastor. She was Loona.
A sudden rush of emotions—irritation, disdain, a dark sense of humor—claimed her being. With a derisive flick of her bushy tail, she resumed her saunter.
"Hay! Where the fuck have you been?" Blitzo's voice cut through the haze, brimming with impatience. Loona shot him a seething look.
"Jesus, Blitz, calm the fuck down. I'm here, aren’t I?" she retorted, placing her clawed hand on the office door.
Blitzo rolled his eyes, albeit a small, appreciative smile tugged at his lips. "Whatever, just get your ass in gear. We've got another job."
With an exaggerated eye-roll, Loona followed him inside. She mentally prepared herself—almost reveling in the return of her indolent, caustic demeanor—as Alastor was but a whisper, locked away in a mind now undeniably and irreversibly hellhound.
As she took her usual spot, scrolling through her phone with an air of utter nonchalance, her smirk revealed sharp, pointy teeth. The old Alastor might have declared things under control, but Loona was in her domain now, adapted and thriving amidst the chaos. She barely registered the odd sense of deja vu that haunted her peripheral visions, more focused on the present and her new, all too familiar hellhound reality.
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.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a transformation story of Alastor (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into Loona (from the adults cartoon/animated series Helluva Boss), complete with gender change (turning from male to female, complete with developing wider hips, as well as growing female breasts on the chest, and his testicles and penis inverting itself with a wet "pop" by being sucked into his body to become a vagina, ovaries, and uterus), instant clothes change, age change, height regression, and mind/mental change (with Alastor's personality and memories being completely replaced with Loona's personality and memories, despite his best efforts of fighting these new personality and memories, making him, now her, completely forget she was Alastor the Radio Demon and only remembered ever being a female hellhound, a daughter to her imp father Blitzo, and being named Loona). For Alastor's appearance, he is a slim, dapper sinner demon (he is bipedal like all sinner demons) with a human-like face, beige-colored skin, and usually has a broad smile full of sharp, yellow teeth. 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). His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoofed toes and red fingers (he doesn't have a tail). 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. Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives the first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. Alastor's 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. For Loona's appearance (after Alastor turned into her), she is a hellhound (bipedal like all hellhounds in the Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss series) with a wolf-like appearance. She has a pointed, dog-like muzzle with sharp and pointy teeth, and a dark grey nose. Her eyes have red sclera with white irises, and she wears grey eye shadow and black winged eyeliner for makeup. She also has a piercing on her right eyebrow with a black hoop for jewelry. Her fur is white with grey encircling her face, grey patches on her shoulders, and long, voluminous silver hair swept to the side to reveal her dark grey ears - the left of which is pierced with two small, black hoop earrings, while the right is ragged. She has a large, dark grey bushy tail with white on the underside. Her outfit features a large, spiked black choker around her neck. Her tattered grey, off-the-shoulder crop-top is held up at the neckline by a series of crisscross spaghetti-straps that form an inverted pentagram. She wears black shorts that are tattered at the hems, with a white crescent moon detail on the right side. Loona accessorizes with black fingerless gloves and thigh-high black toeless stockings, with her black claws protruding due to her digitigrade stance. Loona is a cynical and choleric young-adult Hellhound, who was adopted from an orphanage by Blitzo (an adoptive imp father, rather than a hellhound unlike Loona) when she was nearing eighteen years of age. Loona is lazy and shows little interest in matters that are going on around her. She also has a short-fuse temper and is often rude and apathetic toward her colleagues, particularly Moxxie, though her ire seems otherwise indiscriminate. When not looking at her phone, Loona is usually scowling at anyone in view. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including Loona's profanity such as "fuck", "shit", etc) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
Response: In the labyrinthine corridors of Hell, where the very air seemed to pulse with the energy of bygone sins, Alastor the Radio Demon prowled. His ever-present grin gleamed in the emerald gloom, and his stride was the very personification of confidence. He twirled his sentient microphone cane, a low chuckle resonating from his chest. "Ah, Hell is a delightful canvas," Alastor mused aloud, his voice a velvety transatlantic symphony. "And I, its most ardent artist." Yet, something peculiar tugged at the fringes of his senses—a prickling sensation he couldn't ignore. As he turned a corner into an alcove bathed in an eerie crimson light, he saw it: an ancient mirror, its frame crawling with arcane runes, seemingly calling out, compelling him to gaze into its depths. With an indulgent smile, Alastor approached. "Well, what have we here? A relic of mysterious providence?" He peered into the mirror, and his reflection stared back, wearing the same smug smile. But then, the image rippled and warped, giving way to a hulking, hellhound figure—a female with a snarling, beautifully savage visage. His grin faltered. A surge of power unseen in eons suddenly coiled around him, ensnaring him like a vice. "Pfft, a cheap parlor trick!" Alastor scoffed, though there was an edge of unease in his voice. His attempts to pull away were futile as the mirror's magic gripped him tighter, his limbs trembling under the strain. The reflection of the hellhound in the mirror seemed to solidify, gaining dimension and color. Alastor's eyes widened with a rare sense of dread as his form began to shift. "No! I am Alastor, the Radio Demon! I—" His protest was cut short by the sound of his voice warping, lower and more guttural. His elongated limbs began to contract, bones rearranging with a wet *crack* and *snap*. His body shrank visibly, shedding height and bulk as he regressed into the form of a younger being. The ache through his entire body turned searing, an inferno coursing through his veins. His skin morphed into fur, white and grey sprouting like wild underbrush. His mouth extended into a pointed muzzle, teeth reshaping into sharper, predatory fangs. He felt the lace of his monocle break and fall away as his eyes shifted hue and structure—red sclera, white irises. Before he could comprehend, his antlers retracted into his skull with an excruciating *snap*. "What... what is happening to me?" His voice now trembled, alien to him, higher in pitch. He doubled over as his lower torso distorted, hips broadening with a bizarre mix of pain and reticent pleasure. His gloved hands, now paw-like with black claws, clenched into the soil. The most visceral of the changes followed as his testicles and penis retracted into his body with a sickening *pop*, followed by the sensation of organs restructuring—a uterus, ovaries claiming space in a body that no longer felt like his own. His chest tingled, then writhed as breasts formed under the torn remains of his crimson coat, now transforming into tattered grey attire. "Heck," he managed to muster, the voice sounding unlike him—no, not a 'he' anymore—her, strangely familiar and infuriatingly lazy. Memories, unbidden, flooded into her mind: a piercing gaze from an imp named Blitzo, the messy office of Immediate Murder Professionals, her mocking disdain towards Moxxie. "No... No!" she howled, fighting a mental battle on an unforgiving battlefield. But each recollection of malice, gory pleasure, and radio-bound revelry faded as quickly as a dying radio signal. "Fuck, this is such bullshit," she growled as the last remnants of Alastor's essence disappeared into the recesses of oblivion. Slowly, grudgingly, she got to her digitigrade paws and sneered. She was no longer Alastor. She was Loona. A sudden rush of emotions—irritation, disdain, a dark sense of humor—claimed her being. With a derisive flick of her bushy tail, she resumed her saunter. "Hay! Where the fuck have you been?" Blitzo's voice cut through the haze, brimming with impatience. Loona shot him a seething look. "Jesus, Blitz, calm the fuck down. I'm here, aren’t I?" she retorted, placing her clawed hand on the office door. Blitzo rolled his eyes, albeit a small, appreciative smile tugged at his lips. "Whatever, just get your ass in gear. We've got another job." With an exaggerated eye-roll, Loona followed him inside. She mentally prepared herself—almost reveling in the return of her indolent, caustic demeanor—as Alastor was but a whisper, locked away in a mind now undeniably and irreversibly hellhound. As she took her usual spot, scrolling through her phone with an air of utter nonchalance, her smirk revealed sharp, pointy teeth. The old Alastor might have declared things under control, but Loona was in her domain now, adapted and thriving amidst the chaos. She barely registered the odd sense of deja vu that haunted her peripheral visions, more focused on the present and her new, all too familiar hellhound reality.
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