The dungeon, under Acid's watch, was many things. It was not peaceful. Almost every day there was some sort of incident. A fight would break out between two monsters, or one monster would challenge Acid for the right of being boss. On the worst of days, small scale wars would break out. It was utter chaos.

... And in that chaos, strength was fostered.

The dungeon monsters grew stronger with each and every fight, with every cycle. The stronger they grew the harder they fought, already several monsters had come close to beating Acid. A gap that was closing faster and faster as time progressed. Still, none had risen who were strong enough to take the crown. To defeat Acid and rule in his stead.

There were, however, candidates that seemed up to the task. Monsters of abnormal strength that simply hadn't challenged him. One of these candidates was a wolf named Fenrir.

He, at a glance, was a simple wolf. Grey fur and sharp claws, paired with even sharper teeth. He was fast and clever, and far beyond most of his kin. Fenrir's strength was a hidden thing. Hidden to even the closest members of his pack. A strength that very few saw, Acid was one of those few.

He could feel something pulsing beneath the surface. A furnace waiting to be set to work, inside of Fenrir. The power to become something more, held back only by a lack of ambition. A part of Acid wanted to set that power free, to see where it would take the wolf. The smarter part of him, though, wanted to live.

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If Fenrir's potential was ever unlocked, what would stop him from challenging Him for the title and rank of Boss. Nothing, nothing was the answer. Worse yet, Acid couldn't send any monster to kill the wolf. The chances of him surviving and awakening to his potential were too for that.

So, with nothing to do, Acid sat in his lair and waited. He waited for the inevitable things. A challenger, the dungeon getting invaded, and defeat. A challenger would always come, they always did. The dungeon would undoubtedly need to defend itself one day. And one day, Acid would lose. Whether it be against challenger or invader, one day he would fall.

It was why the dungeon needed to be strong. Why, Acid realized, he would have to die. Not because he couldn't avoid it, but for the good of the dungeon.

With a sorrowful hiss, Acid ordered the death of Fenrir. Then he began to pace. The click clack of his sharp legs followed him wherever he went. It was like a cloak, covering the thoughts running through his head.

He did not want to die. Still, he would need to. Not a useless death, but a death to make the strong, stronger. His sacrifice would be for the drawing out of potential. An effort to create a blazing inferno the likes of which the dungeon had never seen before. For that inferno to eventually sputter out and die for the creation of the next.

Acid wanted, no he would create a chain reaction. One that would outlast him and preserve the dungeon for generations. Unfortunately, it started with his own death and the rise of a new champion. A champion that he hoped would share his vision.

If they did not, then the dungeon's fate would be in their hands. In Fenrir's hands if his suspicions were correct.