The Great Centuries War
Enshrined in the annals of history, shrouded in the mists of time, is the enduring tale of the Great Centuries War. This war, spanning countless generations and continents, has etched deep scars into the fabric of civilization, the pain and trauma manifesting in both the land and the psyche of humanity. The conflict began for reasons now lost to time, a cause erased by the ceaseless march of years, leaving behind only a haunting echo of profound loss and destruction.
The tableau of the war was one of permanent dusk and rain-soaked landscapes, an endless labyrinth of trenches carving up the once pristine earth. These trenches, now graves of innocence, became the homes of soldiers, their laughter and dreams replaced with the relentless echo of artillery fire and the bleak silence of dread.
Technology, once the beacon of human progress, stagnated under the war's heavy shroud, leaving mankind trapped in a vicious cycle of destruction and despair. Innovation was weaponized, every spark of genius harnessed to fuel the machines of war. The grand Ironside tanks, monstrosities of steel and smoke, rolled relentlessly over shattered homes and dreams, their ominous shadows heralding desolation. The airships, fueled by then poorly understood alchemic principles, laid bombs upon the land. The flying machines darted the sky, single men laying waste to entire groups with a single winged stroke of their machine guns.
The battlefield, once a kaleidoscope of cultures and nations, morphed into a world unified by the shared horror of war. From the far-reaching plains of the east to the dense forests of the west, the war left no stone unturned, no soul untouched. Countries, regardless of their history or heritage, bore the scars of the conflict, their landscapes forever transformed, their people irrevocably scarred.
The war altered not only the physical reality of the world but seeped deep into the hearts and minds of its inhabitants. The relentless onslaught of death and decay permeated the air, the horrid smell of rot becoming an omnipresent reminder of the war's relentless grasp. The men and women on the front lines, their spirits once vibrant and full of hope, were gradually worn down by the ceaseless torment, their humanity replaced with a hardy veneer of survival.
As the centuries rolled on, the war became an integral part of existence, a ubiquitous entity that dictated every aspect of life. The people, weathered and hardened by the relentless torment, evolved to accommodate the grim reality, their identities intertwined with the war. Humanity, once the progenitor of civilization, was molded by the relentless conflict, its essence redefined by the enduring horror of the trenches, the omnipresent threat of the Ironsides, and the penetrating stench of death that permeated every aspect of their lives.
The ruthless march of the Great Centuries War paid no heed to borders, to nations, to the sanctity of homelands. Countries once resplendent with diversity and life were razed, reduced to ashen husks of their former glory. Geographical boundaries that once defined identities became meaningless lines in the dirt, rendered obsolete by the incessant march of the war. The nations of the world, once proud and sovereign entities, were reduced to mere cogs in the gargantuan machine of conflict. Their unique identities dissolved into the mire of blood and mud that characterized the endless struggle. During this time the dove found no resting place for the sole of her foot.
Each battlefield became a cesspool of human misery, a stagnant quagmire echoing with the anguished cries of the damned. Soldiers, birthed into a world of ceaseless strife, faced an existence devoid of purpose beyond the grim cycle of fighting and dying. They were the embodiment of a generations-long struggle against an enemy they barely knew, for reasons they couldn't comprehend, their lives reduced to cannon fodder in the relentless churn of war.
A grotesque culture emerged from the crucible of conflict, a perverse dance of death, despair, and damnation. It was a culture molded in the darkest depths of human cruelty, its roots entrenched in the horror and suffering that man can inflict upon his fellow man. This was a culture where the macabre became the norm, where humanity's capacity for empathy was drowned under the onslaught of unending violence.
All the while, an enclave of elite, nationless puppeteers reveled in the spoils of this ceaseless war, feeding on the bounty reaped from the fields of human suffering. Untouched by the horrors that pervaded the battlefields, they reveled in the luxuries wrested from the hands of the innocent. These were the profiteers of conflict, feasting at the trough of despair, their faces smeared with the blood and grime of those condemned to the frontlines.
War was their banquet, and they glutted themselves on the fruits of devastation, growing fat on the sacrifices of millions. These elites were the unspoken monsters lurking in the shadows of conflict, rarely affected by the generations-consuming strife that ripped the world asunder. To them, war was a game of profit and power, a spectacle to be observed from the comfort of their ivory towers.
The Great Centuries War thus painted a grim tapestry of humanity's darkest hour, a period where the line between man and beast blurred, where the sanctity of life was discarded for the hollow chime of profit. It was an era where the collective consciousness of mankind was drowned in despair, where the joy of life was replaced by the grim acceptance of death. It was a time of darkness, where hope was a forgotten whisper, lost amidst the howling winds of war.
It was then, seeing humanity in its weakened, brutalized state, that the Martians invaded. The remnants of the human race, teetering on the brink of self-destruction, were ripe for the picking. The Martians, alien aggressors with a cold, calculating intelligence, saw opportunity in our planet's misery. They descended upon Earth, not as liberators, but as oppressors, their sights set on exploiting the desolate lands and shattered societies left in the wake of the Great Centuries War.
The Martian invasion marked a new chapter in the history of a world already scarred by strife. They arrived not with offers of aid or promises of peace, but with the cold finality of conquerors. Their arrival signaled the end of one era of war and the dawn of another, a grim testament to a world caught in a relentless cycle of conflict and destruction.
How did we, a species already brought to our knees by our own self-inflicted wounds, cope with this new threat? How did we face this alien enemy, so foreign and yet eerily similar in its ruthless ambition? And what were the consequences of this otherworldly invasion on a planet that was already teetering on the brink of oblivion?
These are questions that can only be answered in the grim recollections of those who survived, of those who faced the Martian onslaught head-on. For the complete account of humanity's struggle against this alien menace, read on in the Martian Earth War.