Let's write a story (a short story, maybe?) one paragraph at a time.
It is a deep, dank hole in a barren land. A rotting place full of life that thrives on death. All around are ancient things. Epics have come and passed, the global climate changed and changed again, and the things in this place can hardly be said to have stirred. Not even a breeze reaches here; not this deep. But buried far beneath the rotting fungal carpet, something shifts. A demon opens his eyes, wondering if it's time.