A seed from hell sprouted in the earth. Feasting on life, it ate the land’s worth. The inching of its limbs salted the soil. The newborn’s beating heart faulted for turmoil. It did not think nor ponder, for its mind would wander. The baby driven by a primal beat; the incessant urge to do nothing but eat.

Feared by man it and its kind were. A beacon it served for the terrors of nightmares and demons in the dark. Its arcane powers a boon for monsters and a poison for man. Deathly miasma seeped from its clutches, a disease rotting earth and life. The beating heart pulsed energy through its limbs. Its limbs extended, its grip tightened. An abhorred entity they came to be. An existence the Children of Man dreaded to see. Yet, inaction did not cripple the races of Man – no – they took up their spears and sharpened their swords. To protect their lands and lives, they would wage war. Though quarrels and conflict plagued the races of Man, they were united in their relentless extermination. They gave these creatures no mercy, no quarter. Even a baby would be sentenced to death.

And so, this seed, a fresh newborn into the world, was stumbled upon by the armies of man. It was not their objective; no preparations were made for its discovery, but their duty compelled them to cease the beating of its weak heart hidden in the body cavity. They could tell the beast was young; verily, the heart was underdeveloped and growing – still feral and untamed. The resolve of the warriors doubled. An opportunity like this was rare. Unsheathing their weapons and echoing their war cries, they swiftly marched to end this seed’s young life. They envisioned their welcome to the streets of their cities and the halls of their kings. A hero’s welcome and a victorious warriors feast awaited them.

A baby this creature was, but weak it was not. The creatures it drew from its malevolent aura checked their advance. Coupled with its own demonic powers and machinations, they raised hell among the invaders

In pools of blood, the Children of Man and creatures laid together. All were dead except one – a man – who reached the beast’s beating heart. It had lost for it was, after all, still just a child. Before the last warrior, it did nothing, could do nothing. Its life forfeit. However, the man raised not a sword but his hand. The curiosity of a cat twinkled in his eyes. He reached out, gently, to touch the heart. For the first time in memorable history, the heart of the spurned existence known as dungeons fused not with a devil or demon nor grew into its own existence, but rather took hold and merged with a naïve human man.