Long before Erik's music reached its soil, long before Lady Death's steps brushed against its winds, the world they would one day call home already carried a history older and stranger than any mortal could fathom. Names had been given to it, some poetic, some fearful, but the one whispered across ancient temples and cosmic ruins alike was Elyndros.
And Elyndros had not begun as one world.
(A.N. Elyndros is the name of the world's consciousness like Gaia. The world is still Earth.)
In an age before calendars or constellations, when reality was still young and the multiverse breathed in uneven rhythms, a shimmering distortion swept across existence. Not violent. Not purposeful. More like the universe inhaling sharply.
Earths, plural, infinite, each with its own laws, histories, and futures. Drifted like leaves into the same cosmic current. Instead of colliding and shattering, they overlapped. Layered. Blended. Merged into a single sphere of land, water, sky, and fate. Continents shifted like ink on wet parchment. Oceans folded inward, then stretched outward a hundredfold. Species awoke in cities that had been entirely different the day before.
And through it all, the planet expanded, growing ten times larger to contain everything it had absorbed.
The Collision Age ended as quietly as it began. The world stabilized.
Civilizations rose on land that had never existed in their old histories.
And Elyndros was born.
It was a world where creatures from Krypton walked beside humans who still believed themselves alone. Where Asgardians saw their myths retold beside Greek gods brought to life. Where Wakandan kings shared continents with the Amazons of Themyscira, while Atlanteans watched from the depths, deciding whether to reveal or remain in shadow.
Magic, science, alien technology, and cosmic forces coiled around one another like threads in an ever-expanding tapestry. The planet was not chaotic, it simply contained multitudes.
Centuries passed, and the First Pantheons rose. Some were divine beings with histories stretching back to their original universes. Others were gods created anew from the merging of belief systems. Kryptonian survivors found themselves worshiped in distant corners; forgotten Asgardian relics resurfaced across deserts and jungles. Magic surged in unpredictable patterns, reshaping landscapes, blessing bloodlines, and leaving behind ruins that hummed softly at night.
Elyndros learned to breathe again.
kingdoms formed, fell, and reformed. Languages blended like rivers meeting in a valley. People adapted, because humans always did.
But from the very beginning, Elyndros was not merely a stage on which stories were told.
It was aware.
Not like a person. Not like a god. More like a pulse beneath the ocean. Steady, listening, always there.
As time marched onward, the Age of Heroes dawned.
The world's greatest minds and greatest destinies stepped into the light almost simultaneously, as if some unseen hand had given a signal.
Somewhere in a cave in the Middle East, a kidnapped billionaire named Tony Stark forged the first arc reactor and killed the man who betrayed him. Far across the world, a farmboy named Clark Kent revealed the truth of what he was, a being from the stars, shaped by compassion more than power. Diana ventured once more into the realm of mortals. Bruce Wayne donned the mantle of a bat and became Gotham's unending shadow.
Mutants, metas, enhanced humans, sorcerers, every type of extraordinary being imaginable. Began to surface across continents. Governments were forced to evolve quickly. SHIELD, ARGUS, STAR Labs Defense, and dozens of other agencies rose to address a world where humans were no longer at the top of the power hierarchy.
Yet Elyndros endured every crisis, every invasion, every cosmic assault, not because its heroes were unmatched, but because the planet itself seemed built for resilience.
When aliens invaded, its atmosphere bent but did not break. When gods fought across continents, its land healed faster than expected. When metahuman destruction shook cities, its tectonic plates held firm.
Scholars claimed the planet adapted. Sorcerers whispered that Elyndros fed on conflict. Scientists insisted it was just an anomaly of physics.
But the truth was more than any of them suspected.
The planet listened. It remembered the Collision Age. It remembered the energies that shaped it. And deep within its core, beneath stone and fire and oceans, a faint hum existed, soft, steady, patient.
It had been waiting for something.
The Cosmic Expansion Era began when humanity, armed with alien technology and the brilliance of minds like Stark, Richards, and Palmer, pierced the sky. Ships left the atmosphere. Colonies were established. Trade routes opened. The moon became a gateway. Mars became a proving ground.
No literally mars became a proving ground for war, but not by humans no, something darker and fiercer then anyone expected. And without the help of all the different geniuses from Earth. Maybe everything we know might have not ever been.
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Mars had once been a promise.
The first world humanity had stepped onto not as conquered survivors, but as explorers, engineers, builders. Terraforming began slower than hoped yet faster than any scientist would have believed possible. Atmospheric stabilizers dotted the equator like a necklace of glowing rings. Water harvesters carved thin rivers into crimson soil. Domed cities rose, not many, but enough.
Mars was meant to be humanity's triumph.
Instead, it became its crucible.
No one knew when the first hive appeared. Later investigations suggested the organism arrived through a dimensional fracture, a tear so small it didn't set off cosmic alarms, invisible even to sorcerers and S.T.A.R. Labs sensors. It opened like a mouth in the dust near Vallis Marineris, then sealed behind what slipped through.
By the time the first colonists found the hive cluster, it was already too late.
The creatures that spilled from it were not known to any bestiary or alien database. Their DNA spiraled with impossible complexity. Their bodies were built not merely for survival, but for adaptation, evolution in seconds, not generations.
The name "Zerg" spread through Mars like fire through oxygen-rich brush.
Within weeks, settlements fell. Within months, terraforming towers were overrun. Within a year, Mars was no longer a colonized world… It was a battlefield.
Governments across Earth scrambled to understand the threat. At first they believed it was another alien species, perhaps a stray hive mind from a corrupted universe. But the Zerg exhibited a terrifying, unmistakable pattern.
They learned.
They changed.
Every weapon used against them became obsolete in hours. Every defensive strategy dissolved under sheer biological adaptability. Every fallen soldier became biomass for the next wave.
It became clear that Mars was not simply infested. Mars was being rewritten.
And humanity faced extinction on two planets if they didn't stop it.
That was when the shift happened, the moment military engineers realized they could not fight the Zerg with conventional weapons. The creatures were too fast, too resilient, too numerous. So instead, humanity studied the enemy.
What they discovered reshaped warfare forever.
Zerg carapace, when treated correctly, resisted extreme temperature and kinetic force.
Zerg tissue, when bonded with nanopolymers, could be molded into reactive armor.
Zerg DNA strands contained dormant structures capable of biological energy conversion.
What humanity once feared, became a resource.
Scientists reverse-engineered brood tissue into reinforced plating. Weaponsmiths forged gauss rifles modeled after Terran-themed simulations. Engineers constructed siege platforms, mobile exosuits, and mechanized walkers with designs eerily similar to the units once seen only in fiction from an earlier Earth.
Mars, in its desperation, created something new.
A hybrid of human ingenuity and biological savagery.
The first generation of armored troopers, nicknamed "Firebats" by the soldiers themselves, wore suits reinforced with Zerg carapace and equipped with incendiary cannons. They were the only ones who lasted more than three minutes in direct swarm contact.
Then came the Goliath frames, walkers modeled in part after tech salvaged from both Kryptonian exosuits and Wakandan kinetic alloys. Their missile racks were capable of shredding aerial broods before the creatures could dive.
Next arrived Valkyrie-class gunships, repurposed from old SHIELD carriers, their hulls lined with Zerg-woven reinforcement to withstand acid spray.
Humans adapted. Humans survived. And Mars transformed into something none of its designers expected.
A proving ground, not for expansion, but for war.
The entire planet became divided into red zones, black zones, and white zones. Red zones were Zerg territory, shifting and expanding like a living storm. Black zones were no-man's-land where the dead, human and Zerg alike, fed the soil. White zones were strongholds, heavily fortified domes, barracks, command towers, and bio-reactors where human technology fused with alien biology under strict regulation.
Recruits were shipped in from all over Earth. Soldiers, criminals, engineers, mutants, metas, enhanced humans, anyone capable of surviving long enough to learn. Entire militaries cooperated for once in history, Stark tech, Wayne Enterprises gear, S.T.A.R. Labs prototypes, Wakandan energy systems, Asgardian barrier runes, all deployed in the same war.
And through all the death and evolution, the Zerg continued to grow.
Some broods demonstrated signs of higher intelligence. Some evolved methods specifically to counter Terran-style technology. Some began tunneling so deeply that seismic sensors could no longer track them.
Mars was no longer simply a battlefield.
It had become a breeding ground for horrors and a training ground for humanity's future.
Veterans who survived a full year on Mars were considered elite anywhere in the system. Recruits who lasted a month were praised. And those who lasted a week were honored for their strength.
But very few lasted at all.
From orbit, Mars glowed at night with lines of artillery fire and the pulsing bioluminescence of alien hives. It was beautiful in a terrible way, a symphony of war written across the desert.
And yet, despite everything, humanity refused to abandon the planet.
Because if Mars fell…
Earth would be next.
The Zerg would take the stars. The swarm would reach every world connected through history's great merging. Earth, Asgard, Atlantis, Wakanda, Metropolis, Gotham, everything would be consumed.
So the war continued.
Zerg hives adapted. Humans adapted back. And Mars, once a symbol of exploration, became a crucible of survival, the place where the fate of countless worlds might one day be decided.
Though most of Elyndros remained blissfully unaware, the soldiers stationed on the red planet understood a truth that echoed across every battlefield.
Mars was no longer a colony.
Mars was a warning.
And whatever force unleashed the Zerg upon its soil…
Was still out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Learning.
Earth was no longer a single world among many.
It had become a power.
And still that hum endured.
Through every crisis. Every hero, war, and celestial anomaly.
The hum waited.
Then, on a quiet morning that no historian would think to record, reality rippled.
A presence stepped into the valley, quiet, curious, ancient. A being born from the first sound ever created. A being whose existence predated every universe that had merged into Elyndros.
Erik did not know what the planet truly was. He only knew that the ground beneath him felt… familiar. Comforting. Close to something he had lost in the void.
Lady Death sensed it instantly.
The world recognized him.
It responded to his hum like a heartbeat syncing to another. The river slowed to listen. The wind curled toward him as if following a melody. Strange, gentle creatures emerged from the forest, drawn by the resonance in his voice.
No hero had ever stirred the planet like this. No god, alien, or sorcerer.
Only Erik.
The first sound the universe had ever birthed.
The hum within Earth's core, silent for thousands of years, answered him for the first time. Not loudly, not with force, but with a soft vibration that rippled through the valley like a greeting from an old friend.
Lady Death looked at him with gentle understanding.
"This world hears you," she whispered.
"And perhaps, it has always been waiting."
Elyndros, the world built from infinite fates, had finally found a melody that matched its own.
And Erik, who had wandered the void alone since creation began, unknowingly stepped into the one place that could truly resonate with him, not as a god, not as a force, but as simply himself.
The planet did not bow.
It welcomed him.
And somewhere deep beneath mountains and oceans, the hum of the world grew slightly stronger, as if whispering.
At last.
'You're home.'
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And that's that for today. This was just a small backstory and lose about the planet and events happening at the moment. Dont take it too seriously cus i know for a fact there are some parts that could be written better. And make it more easy to understand.
Anyway hope you enjoyed and as always any questions or concerns leave a comment.
Help this book get seen more easily, send some powerstones please.