My next POV transformation caption! This time, you reader gets turned into an identical twin of Alastor the Radio Demon, by Alastor himself. I hoped you liked this! ^^


Story Version:


Showtime! - Alastor TF MC POV




As you lounge in your room, idly scrolling through online forums focused on the Hazbin Hotel series, a sudden chill runs down your spine as if an unseen presence has entered the room. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shudder, putting down your device and looking around, bewildered. Suddenly, the room's lights flicker, plunging the space into brief instants of darkness. A buoyant, vintage radio-like voice fills the room, "Ahh, Internet, the bane of good taste! Why, it seems some just don't appreciate the fine art of being - moi." You freeze, the voice was not a creation of your imagination. It was the very manifestation of Alastor, the charming and sinister character from Hazbin Hotel. In a blink, Alastor was standing before you. His grinning face gleaming in the low light.


Your outfit felt tight and uncomfortable. You touch it and find instead of your usual attire, you were wearing a remarkably similar red pinstriped coat with dark-red lapels, a bright red dress shirt underneath, a black bowtie with a red center, and long black pants complete with matching bright red cuffs. You glance at your hand, your fingers were transforming, stretching out longer and elongating, the skin fading into a dark grey. You felt pressure in your feet as your feet merged themselves into red cloven hoofed feet, however they still fit within your new heeled black dress shoes. Suddenly overcome by vertigo, you clutch your changing hand to your chest feeling odd bumps on your head. Stumbling to the nearest mirror, your reflection stops you dead. Two small black antlers protruded from your head, the part in your hair now a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips.


"Oh, don't worry, it's not permanent. Well, not in the way you're thinking," Alastor's voice echoes. The room spins and you collapse onto the floor, struggling to hold onto your own sense of self as you felt it slipping away. New memories flood in, transforming your perception. Memories that were never yours, stories and life events of Hell and its inhabitants. Still, you tried to fight it, pushing against the tide of Alastor's life, hoping to retain some semblance of your own self. "Ah, ah, ah! Don't fight it," Alastor warned as his voice took a sharp tone while retaining his permanent smile. "This isn't a punishment - more of... a new perspective, my dear."


Your body stretched, cramping and rearranging itself in time with the changes cascading through your mind. Quickly, the floor approached as you started to tower over your old height. Your physique transforms, becoming slim and dapper, making your previous form unfamiliar to you and your new outfit perfectly fitting your changing body. You flexed your hands, your fingers now finishing their transformation into deep red, humanoid claws. Your eyes itched; rubbing them, your fingers were met with a hard, oval-shaped monocle. You blinked and your vision was tinted red, the shock making you recoil. You dropped your hands and stared at them, your fingers tapered into blood-red claws.


You then gasped in shock and amazement. "I look devilishly handsome, don't I?" You chuckled, "Oh, I should say you do. Or we do?" Your memories were replaced, cheeks hurting... delightfully from the involuntary smile you now wore, your teeth having grown and sharpened into yellow fangs. A cane with a microphone fell onto your extended hand, and, despite not knowing before, you now seemed to know inherently how to use it. "Welcome to the world of Hazbin Hotel, where every day is a picture show and every creature a true character! Today, we've a swell addition - myself. Or rather, you... or is it we now?"


Your old self tried to fight, but as a final memory washed over you - being Alastor using supernatural black magic to turn you, the reader, into his clone - your original identity was completely overwhelmed and thrust into oblivion. Left standing in his stead was an exact replica of Alastor in both body and mind. "Well, shall we start the greatest show the underworld has ever seen?" You asked, now in Alastor's transatlantic voice, but the sting of 'we' no longer bothered. There was no other 'we' or 'you.' There was only Alastor.