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the god of war to the roman deities that inhabit the pantheon.
the red that ruins the corners of your lips and the victories you carry in your asteroid belt, your bronze armour stitching into the skin of the constellations and your spear piercing into the planets of the galaxy. your fellow warriors praised your dust devils that glided into the colosseum, your high ice cloud that chilled your enemies to the bone and your gigantic dust storms that left your spectators breathing in your thin air.
they regarded you as the most important god, with your throne beside king jupiter in the heavens. you were closely associated with all militaristic aspects including repelling invading space armies, protecting cities on the worlds of the milky way and crushing rebellions that threatened a coup d'état of the stars above.
oh how the planets found you difficult.
you were once the protector of agriculture to the ancient romans, because of the genes passed from your mother Juno to you through fornication, but once you tasted and smelt the fluid of blood, you rekindled your love for slaughter and it soon defiled your skin, you soul, your life. that blood of others that thrived in your veins and arteries fuelled your relationship with the human priestess rhea silvia would then mothered the two founders of rome, the slain's blood now transitioning in their veins making carnage a trademark in the rome republic.
the planets found you aggressive.
you always had to argue as to why you had to travel in your orbit around sol with the other seven planets as routine; the death messenger and the promiscuous goddess, the fake greek with the mortals and the giants that challenged your position in the galaxy hierarchy. you found bloodshed a necessity of life that the other planets did not, making you fume your carbon dioxide and methane atmosphere, hoping it would poison the mere planets that trailed behind you in their trajectory because that meant death and it was a good thing in life.
but the humans thought you were to bring peace and safety.
the planets did not.
and when realisation dawned upon us like how the sun kisses the horizon good morning at daybreak, we knew that as the humans held ritual ceremonies that sacrificed an ewe lamb to make the army fit for war and the famers' crops could flourish on the genes mapped out across the surface of your red skin, you would call upon the star constellations of bestia, the wolf and bootes, the spear wielder, to stab the planet gods in their celestial spines causing their crimson stardust to stain your soul beyond repair and showcase itself as aurora australis in the night sky.
serves them right, you thought to yourself.
so oh mars oh mars, fourth planet in our nebula, does all of this define who you really are?
