Have you ever wondered the real reason why Supernatural beings were pushed into hiding? Could it have been as simple as they didn't want to be found? Didn't want to be known about? Or is it a much more complicated story? This is the real story behind the 100 year war that raged on almost six thousand years ago between the most dominant species of the earth. This is a time before Witchbloods, Orb children and other Children of supernaturals. This is a time when Supernaturals were supreme and how they were knocked down from glory by one person…

Prologue

I know what you're thinking, this one hundred year war has been raging on for too long. We don't have anything left to fight for, this is a lost cause. They out number is greatly and we are at a disadvantage, but I refuse to be their food source any longer. I refuse to be their food source.

Vampires and Werewolves had been preying on humans for centuries, we tried to use magic to fend them off but we were cultivated by sheer numbers and force. There was a time before this when there were just the witches, but after their species was almost eradicated they began to breed with humans, of course, witches are really just humans with magic but with each dwindling generation the magic seemed to be taken out of our blood.

I was one of those experimental witches, one bred of humans and witches to build up their species. I wasn't a person. I was a part in their games, I was a tool for them to use to win the war against the vampires and werewolves. A hundred year war over who had the right to the most plentiful food, the humans.

Of course, witches didn't eat humans, we just wanted to protect them because they were suppose to be our survival, but either way we were all power hungry, or just plain hungry and we wanted to manipulate and use the humans for our own selfish ways.

I was part of a war.

A war of the worlds.

There weren't just us battling for our freedom though, Witches were battling vampires and werewolves, werewolves and vampires were battling each other. The fairies were battling the centaurs for dominance of the forest, filii maris fought humans for their freedom to come out of the sea into the land, witches fought humans to make them breed with us, vampires fought fairies because they also prayed on humans if they got the chance, werewolves fought shapeshifters because they could shift into animals they couldn't and they saw them as a threat, shapeshifters fought vampire, werewolves and witches because we were attacking humans and some were forming alliances…

Basically in a nutshell almost every species in the world had been summoned to war and I was one of the witches pawns. I was a piece in their games, waiting for them to overthrow vampires and werewolves to have control of the humans so that we could breed with them and then increase our numbers.

The way the world worked was horrendous, everyday the male witches would go and try find more young human women to bring back and impregnate with their children, hoping that they would be magical. If the child didn't have a witches aura at birth, they were sacrificed with their mother to Hecate, their throats slit and then their corpses burned on a pyre.

But this is the way of the world now, this is the way we have lived for over a hundred years and I can't expect to change that. Nobody can change that.

I'm just a simple witch, and not even a proper witch.

I was bred for one reason, and that reason was to be a pawn in the witches war against the rest of the world.

What are you suppose to do when you have been bred for a certain reason but you don't like that reason.. do you rebel? Refuse? Run? Or do you stay. Do you stay and complete your purpose?

I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstains on my chest like maps of a violent new continent. I felt cleansed. I felt the dark planet turn under my feet .

I looked at sky through the smoke heavy with the smell of burning flesh. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and I am are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills us. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them.

It seems that the choice is not between violence and nonviolence but between nonviolence and nonexistence. There's never been a true war that wasn't fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous.

I heard a scream on the battlefield and I knew something was wrong. Someone had been killed… somebody who I loved dearly.

I ran out of the settlement and into the full force of the battle. Vampires were fighting with Witches. Their magic shifting into weapons of destruction and sending vampires into flames… I saw him.

I ran to him.

He was bleeding.

I fit my head under his chin, and he could feel my weight settle into him. He held me tight and words spilled out of him without prior composition. And this time he made no effort to clamp them off. He told me about the first time he had looked on the back of her neck. Of the feeling that had never let go of him since. He talked to her of the great waste of years between then and now. A long time gone. And it was pointless, he said, to think how those years could have been put to better use, for he could hardly have put them to worse. There was no recovering them now. You could grieve endlessly for the loss of time and the damage done therein. For the dead, and for your own lost self. But what the wisdom of the ages says is that we do well not to grieve on and on. And those old ones knew a thing or two and had some truth to tell, Inman said, for you can grieve your heart out and in the end you are still where you are. All your grief hasn't changed a thing. What you have lost will not be returned to you. It will always be lost. You're left with only your scars to mark the void. All you can choose to do is go on or not. But if you go on, it's knowing you carry your scars with you. Nevertheless, over all those wasted years, he had held in his mind the wish to kiss her on the back of her neck, and now he had done it. There was a redemption of some kind, he believed, in such complete fulfillment of a desire so long deferred.

I felt a fire rage in my stomach as he finished his mumbling words.

That's when I realised everything the witches told us wasn't true, true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil.

I growled and then I turned my back on Jayden. He was dead and there was nothing I could do about it, but one thing I would do was take no more of this torture. I wouldn't take anymore of this, been used as a pawn in somebody elses games.

Our strategy should be not only to confront the vampires and werewolves, but to lay siege to to. To deprive them of oxygen. To shame them. To mock them. With our art, our music, our literature, our stubbornness, our joy, our brilliance, our sheer relentlessness; and our ability to tell our own stories. Stories that are different from the ones we're being brainwashed to believe.

The revolution will collapse if we refuse to buy what they are selling; their ideas, their version of history, their wars, their weapons, their notion of inevitability.

I remembered something my father told me before he was executed; executed for his beliefs that we had to find a new way to fight. "We be many and they be few. They need us more than we need them. Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing." He had said to me.

Now I knew what he meant, he didn't mean that we as in the witches were few. He meant those of us who believed that their could be peace. Those of us who believed in a better tomorrow.

I would find them. I would find the group and bring peace to the world.