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From Mortal to Spider Sinner: A Transformation Tale in the Hazbin Hotel


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Question: Write a POV transformation story of a male human reader (a boy of 9 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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Every kid dreams of soaring and feeling an adrenaline rush, but I never expected that my life would take such a dramatic turn. One day while roaming around, I found an ancient book that reeked of musty pages and secrets. Flicking it open, a powerful glow emitted from its center. I could feel it pulsing and coursing through me. With every beat, it felt like I was growing; the ceiling seemed to get closer and closer with each passing second. I was just nine years old but suddenly, I appeared to be a man in his 30s towering over eight feet tall. The reality around me started to warp; my house seemed to melt away, replaced by a smog-filled, chaotic city. I shook my head in confusion; the kitchen tiles were now replaced with the distorted faces of people suffering, now familiar sounds of New York crowd echoing around me. I felt my body pulsating and morphing. Looking down, I saw my former flat chest now exaggeratingly fluffy, made to look like voluptuous breasts under the tightly pinned light pink suit-blazer I wore. My skin now had a white fur-like texture to it, splotches of light-pink hue decorating it. I felt a pang on my back, to reveal I now had four arms and a third, retractable set. Deep within me, a voice snickered, "Strange, but you could get used to it." The strangest part was on my face. I faintly remember reaching for my face in shock, but discovered I had no nose or ears. My freckled face now spots of cerise-pink, my mouth full of sharp teeth grinning back at me in the mirror, with one golden fang glinting from the reflection. My own jerky accent replaced with a New York one. I tried to call my parents, but the names seemed to slip from me like water through a sieve. My memories started to fade away, giving way to this new life. Every effort to cling to my old identity laid bare, making room for Angel Dust, a spider-like actor. I yearned to taste my mom's apple pie, but my tongue now favored the spicy tang of Italian dishes. The memory of playing with my puppy replaced with the thrill of engaging in pranks and quarrels. Looking over the drooping city, my mind echoed a thought, "Angel, that's who you are now." Fear turned into a thrilling excitement; I felt powerful, I felt in control. I felt 'right.' The demon city below me was populated by individuals as twisted as I had become. My heart pounded a bit at the thought. This WAS my new reality... this WAS me. Angel Dust, a sinner demon living in Hell. My heart ached slightly for that little boy, the innocent laughter, the plain life. That was gone forever, replaced with something so much more dangerous yet exciting. There was no turning back, there was no 'irreversible.' "I guess I'll have to like pink now," I muttered, an excited thrill running through me. Angel Dust has quite an aftertaste, but in this infernal jungle, I felt right at home. I realized that though what I lost seems significant, the gain is something beyond mortal comprehension. As Angel Dust, I am me. And this infernal city of Hell? It's my playground now. Your dreams may take you places but mine brought me to a completely different realm, at the very top of this infernal world. Being Angel Dust was not just a transformation. It was an evolution. From an innocent, ignorant kid to a stylish, confident demon, it felt like the destiny I wasn’t aware of. My past me was just a blank canvas, waiting to be painted in the hues of Angel Dust. And the artist? Little did he know the masterpiece he was going to become. But I am chaos, I am the storm. A storm that was once a benign breeze. Welcome to my new reality. Would you like an autograph?

Answered by gpt-4

Dec. 31, 2023, 9:03 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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