The buzzing of your phone snaps you out of your thoughts. Another day, another influx of emails and notifications. Perhaps you should put the phone down for a bit and get some fresh air, but your curiosity wins over. You unlock the screen and scroll down, stopping at a particularly intriguing email. Someone sent you a story from a fanfiction forum, tagged with your favorite character from Hazbin Hotel—Alastor, the Radio Demon.
You chuckle to yourself, surely it's another persona swap, another one of those bizarre but strangely entertaining reads where Alastor gets turned into someone or something else entirely. But as you swipe through the lines, an odd sensation creeps in, almost like static jitters; your vision blurs, alternating images of old movie reels and shadowy figures appear, distorting your surroundings.
"Such distasteful stories," you hear an all-too-familiar voice say, sending chills down your spine. "Is this truly what entertains you, dear reader?"
You blink rapidly, trying to regain clarity. It isn't your usual daydream—something is off.
"I believe you need a new form of entertainment," Alastor's voice echoes, deeply unsettling. You struggle to locate the source, but it's as if the sound is coming from an old radio broadcast playing inside your head.
Before you can react, a swirling vortex of dark shadows engulfs you, through cracks and seams of your normal, mundane world. You scream, panic sinking deep into your soul, but there is no one to hear your protests. You try to physically resist the pull, feeling your body being lifted and whipped around like a ragdoll before everything goes black.
When you awaken, you find yourself in a twisted version of Hell. This isn't just any hellscape; it's the world straight out of Hazbin Hotel. Your heart races faster as you scramble to your feet, only to find yourself face-to-face with Alastor himself. He towers over you, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and malevolence.
"My, my, what a rather curious expression you're wearing," Alastor says, his grin impossibly wide. "Shall we make it more... permanent?"
"No, please," you plead, trying to reason with the demonic entity. "You don't have to do this."
But reason has no place here. With a snap of his fingers, dark magic swirls around you. You feel your skin prickling and stretching. Your limbs elongate; you groan in agony as your height increases, reaching an unknown limit. You can feel your bones reshaping, muscles contorting into new forms. This isn't just painful; it's soul-wrenching. Your clothes rip and tear, morphing into the dapper red pinstripe coat, red dress shirt, black pants, and all the fine details of Alastor's attire.
Your heart hammers in protest, but the metamorphosis continues. Hair turns pinkish-red, skin fades to an unsettling beige hue, sharp yellow teeth replace your natural ones, and your eyes—when you catch a glimpse of yourself—darken to an eerie red. Your entire features reshape to mirror those of Alastor, down to the unsettling broad smile etched permanently on your face.
You try to call out, to scream, but your voice rasps into the vibrations of an old-fashioned radio. "No! This isn't—"
"Ah, quite perfect, if I say so myself," Alastor notes, observing you with pleasure. "Now for the final touch."
You feel your mind splitting, existing memories shattering under the weight of foreign ones. Familiar faces fade, replaced by scenes of a different life, a life where you were once Alastor the man, a radio show host from the 1930s. Try as you might to cling to your true self, it's slipping away, like sand running through fingers.
"Remember who you really are," you mutter to yourself, but the mantra weakens as flashes of past broadcasts and deal makings flood your psyche. "I'm not... Alastor... I'm..."
But the transformation is relentless.
"Yes, yes, that's exactly right. You're Alastor," your own voice betrays you, shifting to mimic his every intonation and peculiar charm. "The one and only Radio Demon."
You stare into nothingness, realizing the futility of your fight against the overpowering tide of a personality not your own, a persona that demands dominance over who you once were.
"Welcome to Hell," Alastor says delightfully, extending an eerie hand to you. It's not just a greeting. It’s a confirmation of what you’ve become.
As the last vestiges of your former self fade into nothingness, your mind fully succumbs. You are Alastor now. All the memories, all his charm, and insidious darkness, they are all yours and yours alone. You turn to greet Hell with a smile, ready for endless entertainment.
After all, forever is a very long time, and Hell surely deserves another Radio Demon.
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 POV transformation story of a human reader turning into identical clone of Alastor (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female), clothes change, age change (becoming the age of 30s-40s years old, exactly as left off from Alastor's death from his human life in 1933, becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from a normal height to 7 feet tall), voice change, and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting the new personality and memories, making him/her completely forget about his/her past self and only remember being Alastor the Radio Demon). For Alastor's appearance (after the reader turned into his clone), 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). 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 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. The story is that Alastor is getting bored and wanted something new and more entertaining in Hell. What finally annoyed him is seeing artwork and stories (online) of himself getting turned into other characters in both body and mind (sometimes from different series, such as a story with Alastor becoming May from Pokemon and comic with Alastor becoming Helsa von Eldritch), which he is getting sick and tired of and he views these stories and artwork as distasteful. So to teach the reader a lesson, Alastor (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into real life to kidnap the reader and sent him/her to the world of Hazbin Hotel before using supernatural black magic at the reader which turned him/her into his clones, thus turning the reader into Alastor's identical twin brother (the reader tried to fight those new memories and personality, not wanting to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but is fighting a losing battle and his/her mind been completely replaced with Alastor's mind). The transformation is permanent (meaning it is forever) and is completely irreversible. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: The buzzing of your phone snaps you out of your thoughts. Another day, another influx of emails and notifications. Perhaps you should put the phone down for a bit and get some fresh air, but your curiosity wins over. You unlock the screen and scroll down, stopping at a particularly intriguing email. Someone sent you a story from a fanfiction forum, tagged with your favorite character from Hazbin Hotel—Alastor, the Radio Demon. You chuckle to yourself, surely it's another persona swap, another one of those bizarre but strangely entertaining reads where Alastor gets turned into someone or something else entirely. But as you swipe through the lines, an odd sensation creeps in, almost like static jitters; your vision blurs, alternating images of old movie reels and shadowy figures appear, distorting your surroundings. "Such distasteful stories," you hear an all-too-familiar voice say, sending chills down your spine. "Is this truly what entertains you, dear reader?" You blink rapidly, trying to regain clarity. It isn't your usual daydream—something is off. "I believe you need a new form of entertainment," Alastor's voice echoes, deeply unsettling. You struggle to locate the source, but it's as if the sound is coming from an old radio broadcast playing inside your head. Before you can react, a swirling vortex of dark shadows engulfs you, through cracks and seams of your normal, mundane world. You scream, panic sinking deep into your soul, but there is no one to hear your protests. You try to physically resist the pull, feeling your body being lifted and whipped around like a ragdoll before everything goes black. When you awaken, you find yourself in a twisted version of Hell. This isn't just any hellscape; it's the world straight out of Hazbin Hotel. Your heart races faster as you scramble to your feet, only to find yourself face-to-face with Alastor himself. He towers over you, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and malevolence. "My, my, what a rather curious expression you're wearing," Alastor says, his grin impossibly wide. "Shall we make it more... permanent?" "No, please," you plead, trying to reason with the demonic entity. "You don't have to do this." But reason has no place here. With a snap of his fingers, dark magic swirls around you. You feel your skin prickling and stretching. Your limbs elongate; you groan in agony as your height increases, reaching an unknown limit. You can feel your bones reshaping, muscles contorting into new forms. This isn't just painful; it's soul-wrenching. Your clothes rip and tear, morphing into the dapper red pinstripe coat, red dress shirt, black pants, and all the fine details of Alastor's attire. Your heart hammers in protest, but the metamorphosis continues. Hair turns pinkish-red, skin fades to an unsettling beige hue, sharp yellow teeth replace your natural ones, and your eyes—when you catch a glimpse of yourself—darken to an eerie red. Your entire features reshape to mirror those of Alastor, down to the unsettling broad smile etched permanently on your face. You try to call out, to scream, but your voice rasps into the vibrations of an old-fashioned radio. "No! This isn't—" "Ah, quite perfect, if I say so myself," Alastor notes, observing you with pleasure. "Now for the final touch." You feel your mind splitting, existing memories shattering under the weight of foreign ones. Familiar faces fade, replaced by scenes of a different life, a life where you were once Alastor the man, a radio show host from the 1930s. Try as you might to cling to your true self, it's slipping away, like sand running through fingers. "Remember who you really are," you mutter to yourself, but the mantra weakens as flashes of past broadcasts and deal makings flood your psyche. "I'm not... Alastor... I'm..." But the transformation is relentless. "Yes, yes, that's exactly right. You're Alastor," your own voice betrays you, shifting to mimic his every intonation and peculiar charm. "The one and only Radio Demon." You stare into nothingness, realizing the futility of your fight against the overpowering tide of a personality not your own, a persona that demands dominance over who you once were. "Welcome to Hell," Alastor says delightfully, extending an eerie hand to you. It's not just a greeting. It’s a confirmation of what you’ve become. As the last vestiges of your former self fade into nothingness, your mind fully succumbs. You are Alastor now. All the memories, all his charm, and insidious darkness, they are all yours and yours alone. You turn to greet Hell with a smile, ready for endless entertainment. After all, forever is a very long time, and Hell surely deserves another Radio Demon.
AI Prompts: 1
AI Prompts: 1
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