It was on the inside of the dungeon that a single monster was born. This monster, unlike its kin, was born small. Its eight legs stretched no further than a fingers length, its fangs were no sharper than the dullest of blades, and yet it dreamed. It did not dream of survival, or of the next day.

This monster, nameless and small, dreamed of victory. It dreamed of the day it would slay its first intruder and become something more. A day of growth and strength earned at long last, of ambition and reality's meeting. An everlasting victory.

The tiny spider knew that if this victory was to ever come about it would need to be clever and quick. Its venom was not strong enough to put down anything twice its size all on its own. Nor were its fangs sharp or big enough to deliver a killing blow. If it wanted to realize its dreams, it would need to wait for the perfect moment.

A singular beat in time in which everything lined up. Where a victim, already wounded and on the cusp of death, could be found. Where no competition would challenge it for the kill. Where nothing bigger would come and finish a sloppy job before it could take the chance. A moment so perfect that many would claim it a mere impossible fantasy.

But the spider knew that if it waited long enough the chance would surely arrive. That was why it waited day in and day out. It waited through the nights, through the rising of the sun, and the setting moon. It waited with an intensity rarely found in a creature so simple.

It had the patience of the rarely spoken of True Invader. The great beasts that walked on two legs and wore skins of metal and leather. The Dungeon usurpers that every dungeon monster lived to one day fend off. It may have lacked their dangerous strange weapons, but it more than made up for that with its determination.

For what seemed like far too many days, it waited until at long last its patience paid off.

One day a wolf wandered into the dungeon. It limped in on only three legs. Held just above the ground was a fourth wounded limb. Blood dripped from the crippled leg onto dungeon stone. It dripped and dripped with a quiet sound. To the monsters within the dungeon, however, it may as well have been howling out its presence.

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Claws and many limbed legs creeped out from their dens towards the entrance. They eyed their would be prey with a palpable hunger and one by one they surrounded the wounded wolf.

The tiny spider, hidden on the ceiling above, watched as his fellows prepared to jump at the wolf. Spiders the size of dogs glared at it with hatred in their many eyes. Dungeon born wolves stared at the doomed prey with zero sympathy. Above them all the tiny dungeon spider saw his chance.

More than ready, he lowered himself down towards the lone wolf. His fangs dripped venomous spittle laced with ambition and desire. Each drop fell on the Grey furs of the wounded wolf, yet none warned it of the spider hanging above. The wolf was too busy fending off the monsters slowly closing in on it.

Each one could have long since finished the wolf off. All it would take was a lunge and a single well placed attack. It would be easy. Too easy. So instead they bided their time and circled the wolf like a horde of hungry predators, waiting for it to lash out. Not one of the noticed the tiny spider hanging from a web, right above the wolf's head.

It was as they were distracted that the smallest monster in the dungeon made his move. As they moved in one continuous circle, the spider climbed onto the wolf and moved onto its head. He took one last look at his fellow monsters and then bit down.

Venom surged out through his fangs and into the wolf's bloodstream. It went unnoticed at first, a mild irritation easily ignored. But slowly, so slowly, the irritation grew into a painful itch and from that to a burning pain.

The wolf howled out in agony as the spiders miniscule fangs sunk past its fur. The gathered monsters took a few steps back in horror as the tormented wolf began to thrash about. For minutes it continued undisturbed, until at long last it fell dead.

The collective of dungeon monsters, amused at the Strange scene, took their leave and returned to their posts. As they left, the tiny spider climbed off of the wolf and onto the ground. He felt the power of the wolf leave its corpse and flow into him. It was filling in a way he'd never known before. It was like drinking water for the first time after escaping from the desert. An instant refreshment.

More than that, the feeling changed something within the spider. It lit a spark within the tiny arachnid. And the spark caused the spider to undergo a transformation. It started out slowly, the spider increased in size and quickly grew to the size of a regular dungeon spider. Then it changed colors.

Orange turned green and red turned black. Its muscles were strengthened and it's fangs were made sharper. Then in a stunningly uncomfortable fashion the spider's insides were changed. Over the course of the next two minutes the spider mutated into something new.

When it was finally over, the attention of the dungeon's core fell upon it. A moment of silence passed, and then the core spoke.

"I'll name you... Acid. Because it sounds cool, yeah?"