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A Transcendent Metamorphosis: From Innocence to Demonhood - The Tale of Angel Dust's Bewitching Embrace


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Question: Write a transformation story of the male human reader (a boy of 8 years old) turning into Angel Dust (from an adults animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with age progression (aging to around 30s in a blink of an eye), height progression, reality/world change (the reader's real world warping and turning into the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personality and memories being completely replaced with Angel's personality and memories, despite all of the reader's best yet failed attempts on fighting off these mental changes and his attempts to call the reader's parents for help, making him completely forget about his past self, having no memories of being a mortal human, and only remembered ever being a spider-like adults actor Angel Dust). The transformation into Angel Dust is permanent (meaning it's forever) and completely irreversible. For Angel Dust's appearance (after the kid reader turned into him), he is a sinner demon who has a slender build (almost mimicking feminine curves) and he stands about 8 or more feet tall, both due to his long torso and legs, as well as due to 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 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 preference, he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, Cooking, flirting, the color pink, money, and Italian food; however, he dislikes his own feet, losing credibility, Valentino's abuse to him, and memorizing scripts. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.

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The eight-year-old boy peeked out from behind his comic book, careful eyes glancing around his room as it began to shift and warp. The vibrant colors painted on the walls fluctened, bled into crimson and gold, and then coated themselves in gritty grey reminiscent of a grimy city corner. He dropped the comic as reality warped around him, every trace of his childhood austerity melting away like ice in a raging fireplace. Attempting to resist the change, he ran to the mirror, his tiny heart pounding. With a gasp, he noticed the changes that were already evident. His hair dotting with splotches of light-pink, a heart-shaped pattern forming at the back of his head. He gasped, his childish voice creaking as though under duress, a Manhattan-tinged accent seeping out. He reached for the phone, dialing his parents’ number in childish desperation, but his hands morphed and shifted. They were no longer the hands of a child but of an adult, with the long slender fingers of a pianist painted in cerise pink, sprouting additional fingers and then additional arms. His calls for his parents were met with nothing more than his own voice echoing in the cracking reality. The meek, timid voice of a child began to fade into a lower, richer tenor etched in sarcasm and sharp wit. The small boy looked down at himself in awe as his frame expanded, eight feet in size. His clothes shifted; a long light pink suit-blazer materializing, the horizontal white stripes contrasting nicely with a reddish grey mini skirt. A tight jacket coupled with reddish-grey thigh boots materialized, pushing up a dense carpet of fluffy fur that mimicked a...he glanced down, growing visibly paler...a woman's chest. His world continued to morph, neon lights appeared, sinners strolled past him, his surroundings now a spitting image of Hazbin Hotel. The innocence drained from his cerise pink irises as new thoughts, new memories made home. The boys' memories of a normal human life dimmed, bleached by the vivid realities of Angel Dust's life. He tried to cling on, tried to remember his past, but they faded like smoke into the wind....a science project due next week, his mom's pasta dinner, his dad's bedtime stories. All of them replaced with memories of drugs, money, abusive Valentino. His mouth was filled with sharp teeth, a golden fang glinting ominously. His eyes scanning the mirror again, landing on the pink ‘eyeshadow’, thick lashes, and six small cerise pink eyes underneath. His wide-mouthed stare revealed the presence of a new, permanent identity. A sinner demon, forever Angel Dust, forever seemingly flippant and callous yet internally broken. “Kids, huh? Ugly freaks...” he smirked at his own reflection with an unsettled mixture of horror and acceptance. He was no longer the boy he used to be, but an overconfident, dominant figure in Hell. He was Angel Dust now...and forever. He looked down at his body and sighed, “Damn, I really hate feet…” His parents, his past, his life all of that was a past dream now. He was forever trapped in the gritty and grim reality of Hazbin Hotel. His heart heavy, the new Angel Dust looked out on the distastely altered landscape of his new reality. One thing was clear...The transformation was painful, terrifying, and irreversible. As he picked up a fresh cigarette from beside him— a relic of his new identity— he heaved a sigh. “Welcome to hell, Angel.”

Answered by gpt-4

Dec. 31, 2023, 8:44 p.m.

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This article was generated in part by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model, answering user Anthonyoarchnis's question. Images were generated with OpenAI's AI model, DALL·E 2. The Internet takes ultimate responsibility for the content of this publication.
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Published: Sunday, December 31, 2023

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