The Internet

Log In or Register

Write (with AI)

"Transmutation in Hell: Unraveling of Alastor into Loona"

Bookmark
1 Points

The neon-lit alleyways of Hell suffused with an eerie glow as Alastor, the Radio Demon, adjusted his monocle and strolled with pomp and circumstance. Tonight, there was a different air about the place. The shadows seemed darker, the whispers more sinister. But Alastor was used to this. After all, he was no stranger to the malice in these hellish corners.

"Hello and good evening, citizens of Hell!" Alastor greeted no one in particular, his voice resonating with the crackle of an old-time radio. His broad grin gleamed in the dim light as he continued his promenade. What he didn’t expect, however, was the sudden flash of blue light that engulfed him.

Caught off guard, Alastor dropped his sentient microphone cane. His antlers, already at half-mast, began to twitch involuntarily. "What in Hell's name is—?" he started, but the words were cut off. Pain and confusion shot through him in rapid waves. He fell to his knees, fingers clenching tightly around empty air.

At first it was subtle—his height began to diminish. Alastor gasped as he started to feel as though he were being compressed. His limbs shrank inward, his once spindly fingers shortening. His voice, rich and vibrant, faltered.

"No," he managed to say, staring at his now alien digits. The darkness of his lower limbs gave way to white fur. The transformation marched onward, relentless. His skin and hair turned into a cascade of snowy white as his face elongated into a pointed muzzle.

"What... is... happening?!" The clicks and pops of bones moving swift and eerie. His red pinstripe coat dissolved into black and grey tatters, morphing into a crop-top and shorts. Alastor’s tailored pants receded into black, thigh-high stockings exposing digitigrade legs—ending in black, clawed feet. He thrashed on the ground, fighting the change that he could feel consuming both body and mind.

His chest, once flat under fine tailoring, felt pressure as new tissue formed. Two discernible mounds swelled upon his thorax, pale fur brushing against the fabric of his transformed attire. His hips widened with an audible crack, a feminine roundness taking form.

"This... this cannot—" Again, his words were choked off, this time by an unexpected, invasive sensation within his groin.

There was a sudden spine-tingling shift—a messy, wet "pop" sound—followed by a vacuum-like sucking as his manhood inverted into himself, crafting internal counterparts: a vagina, ovaries, and a womb.

Panicking, Alastor tried to clutch at his throat as his Adam’s apple melted away, but gnarled canine fingers wouldn't obey. As his crimson eyes reformed into white-red irises, tapered with dark wings of makeup, the scream he tried releasing came out in a guttural growl, turning into a disoriented whine of agony and confusion.

A small, treacherous voice began chanting in the recesses of his mind— "Loona, Loona, Loona." A new personality barreled in like an unwelcome invader. The memories followed: Blitzo, Moxxie, the Orphanage, her indifferent apathy to everything else. She fought specter-like but steadily submerged Alastor’s essence.

"No-" Alastor’s last stand dribbled to incoherence, his once razor-sharp voice replaced by a jaded, sullen timbre. "Who the fuck is Moxxie?" he mumbled, claws clenching. "What? N-No, I am Alastor—"

But it was too late, minds were swallowed whole and steeped in Loona's cynicism, shedding Alastor’s calculated charm and his over-hyped 'amiable persona'.

"No," the new voice said, stubbornly holding on to its rhythm. "Fuck this. Fuck everything! Why was I even out here again? Trying to act like the Radio Demon? What a load of shit. Moxxie's gonna shit a brick when he hears this one."

Straightening up, now a fully transformed Loona, the new hellhound glanced around the narrow alley. "Where's my phone?" Her memories aligned and old perspectives blurred into the void. The grin she bore? Now a listless snarl.

She trod forward, shaking her head in confusion. Life had just gotten a lot more irritably complicated.

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 an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into Loona (from an 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: The neon-lit alleyways of Hell suffused with an eerie glow as Alastor, the Radio Demon, adjusted his monocle and strolled with pomp and circumstance. Tonight, there was a different air about the place. The shadows seemed darker, the whispers more sinister. But Alastor was used to this. After all, he was no stranger to the malice in these hellish corners. "Hello and good evening, citizens of Hell!" Alastor greeted no one in particular, his voice resonating with the crackle of an old-time radio. His broad grin gleamed in the dim light as he continued his promenade. What he didn’t expect, however, was the sudden flash of blue light that engulfed him. Caught off guard, Alastor dropped his sentient microphone cane. His antlers, already at half-mast, began to twitch involuntarily. "What in Hell's name is—?" he started, but the words were cut off. Pain and confusion shot through him in rapid waves. He fell to his knees, fingers clenching tightly around empty air. At first it was subtle—his height began to diminish. Alastor gasped as he started to feel as though he were being compressed. His limbs shrank inward, his once spindly fingers shortening. His voice, rich and vibrant, faltered. "No," he managed to say, staring at his now alien digits. The darkness of his lower limbs gave way to white fur. The transformation marched onward, relentless. His skin and hair turned into a cascade of snowy white as his face elongated into a pointed muzzle. "What... is... happening?!" The clicks and pops of bones moving swift and eerie. His red pinstripe coat dissolved into black and grey tatters, morphing into a crop-top and shorts. Alastor’s tailored pants receded into black, thigh-high stockings exposing digitigrade legs—ending in black, clawed feet. He thrashed on the ground, fighting the change that he could feel consuming both body and mind. His chest, once flat under fine tailoring, felt pressure as new tissue formed. Two discernible mounds swelled upon his thorax, pale fur brushing against the fabric of his transformed attire. His hips widened with an audible crack, a feminine roundness taking form. "This... this cannot—" Again, his words were choked off, this time by an unexpected, invasive sensation within his groin. There was a sudden spine-tingling shift—a messy, wet "pop" sound—followed by a vacuum-like sucking as his manhood inverted into himself, crafting internal counterparts: a vagina, ovaries, and a womb. Panicking, Alastor tried to clutch at his throat as his Adam’s apple melted away, but gnarled canine fingers wouldn't obey. As his crimson eyes reformed into white-red irises, tapered with dark wings of makeup, the scream he tried releasing came out in a guttural growl, turning into a disoriented whine of agony and confusion. A small, treacherous voice began chanting in the recesses of his mind— "Loona, Loona, Loona." A new personality barreled in like an unwelcome invader. The memories followed: Blitzo, Moxxie, the Orphanage, her indifferent apathy to everything else. She fought specter-like but steadily submerged Alastor’s essence. "No-" Alastor’s last stand dribbled to incoherence, his once razor-sharp voice replaced by a jaded, sullen timbre. "Who the fuck is Moxxie?" he mumbled, claws clenching. "What? N-No, I am Alastor—" But it was too late, minds were swallowed whole and steeped in Loona's cynicism, shedding Alastor’s calculated charm and his over-hyped 'amiable persona'. "No," the new voice said, stubbornly holding on to its rhythm. "Fuck this. Fuck everything! Why was I even out here again? Trying to act like the Radio Demon? What a load of shit. Moxxie's gonna shit a brick when he hears this one." Straightening up, now a fully transformed Loona, the new hellhound glanced around the narrow alley. "Where's my phone?" Her memories aligned and old perspectives blurred into the void. The grin she bore? Now a listless snarl. She trod forward, shaking her head in confusion. Life had just gotten a lot more irritably complicated.

Comment Section

Post your own comment: