Origin of Madness

Born not of nature nor divine will, but of one alchemist’s unhinged ambition, Creation was forged in the depths of a laboratory soaked in the blood of countless failures. Dr. Victor, a madman obsessed with overcoming the boundaries of form, used the body of a common slime as the base—pliable, hungry, and ever-adaptive.

He spliced into it a volatile creation of his own design: the Genestealer Gene, capable of absorbing and rewriting biological traits. Hundreds of failed subjects devoured themselves in agonizing loops of mutation, but then came the breakthrough—a flicker of Celestial essence, stolen and shattered, giving just enough consciousness to stabilize the monstrosity.

A Living Chimera

Creation is a constantly shifting mass of semi-solid flesh and animalistic traits. Feathers grow beside armored scales. One moment, a beak cracks through its surface; the next, hooves or tentacles pulse from underneath translucent flesh. Owlbear claws, hydra heads, pegasus wings—Creation doesn't mimic with perfection, but rather with unsettling creativity. Every trait absorbed warps into something half-remembered and fully dangerous.

Its form drips with unstable mutation. Limbs vanish and reform mid-stride, eyes blink in places where there should be none, and its voice echoes as if multiple creatures are speaking at once.

Fall into Darkness

Creation’s chaotic adventuring party met its end by its own hands, leaving it to wander alone. Captured by the forces of Duskport’s enigmatic Child King, it was offered a grim ultimatum: serve the Darkness or die.

In chains forged for beasts of nightmare, Creation was dragged beneath the palace into a secret chamber. There, it was collared and force-fed a black ichor—the distilled Essence of Darkness. The moment it touched Creation’s mutable flesh, pain wracked its body. Every instinct screamed, every absorbed trait cried out in revolt. But the collar held, and the essence burrowed deep.

Slave to Hunger

Now, Creation is no longer a thinking creature. It exists as a vessel of unrestrained hunger and forced loyalty. It roams the field as a living weapon for the Child King’s forces. It consumes and adapts, its form becoming ever more grotesque, ever more deadly.

It does not speak, only gurgles and snarls in warped mimicry of the creatures it has consumed. It is a cautionary tale given flesh: what happens when ambition forgets restraint.