Long before humans populated the earth, there existed two types of living lifeforms: mortal beings which closely resembled humanity and the elements of the world. Back then, the elements roamed free; they moved, communicated, and even had some semblance of cognizance, yet, their rowdy nature made the world uninhabitable for most life. The mortal beings were delegated the task of reining in the elements, to pacify them for future succeeding life on Earth. It was an unruly, chaotic battlefield in which elements raged wild and clashed both among themselves and with the mortal beings. 

One mortal being went by the name Ferrum. Day after day, he combated the ferocious elements; helium would rise from the depths in an attempt to suffocate him, rocks of silica and mica would tumble from a cliffside to try to bury him, but with every attack he retaliated, thrashing the elements to a point where they lost all ability to move. Although the days were saturated with adrenaline and constant action, Ferrum soon grew tired of the monotone, consistently aggressive elements. It was at this opportune moment of carelessness for the elements that iron would make its move.

Unlike most other elements, iron was crafty. It witnessed the temerity of the other elements and how they were thereby easily defeated. For vengeance and survival, iron concocted a plan by recruiting arsenic and mercury.

The next day, Ferrum conducted his ritual slaughter of the elements which came before him, brushing aside the noble gases and driving silver deep into the ground. As he sat upon a defeated rock to rest, iron struck.

Coating itself in arsenic and mercury, iron molded itself into a sharp spearhead and charged directly at Ferrum. Ferrum, still drained of energy from the day’s work, was unaware of the sudden attack until the last moment, leaping aside. However, the iron spearhead still managed to graze him, trailing a thin line of red across his forearm. Ferrum stood, but then fell to the ground, every muscle in his body raging with internal flames.

Ferrum lifted his head with no shortage of trembling and struggling, and noticed the sheen of arsenic and mercury on the surface of the iron weapon. 

“Poison?!” he rasped.

Iron cackled, but not in the manner that a mortal being might. Instead a series of pings and clangs radiated from its vessel, like a malicious windchime in a hurricane. Finished with its task, iron went to leave, but Ferrum burst out in babbling.

“You— you b*****d. You will never be forgiven. I might die here, but you will never escape my wrath,” Ferrum frantically screamed grittily, foaming at the mouth with swollen eyes. “As long as you see the sun, as long as you feel the outside air, you will corrode, wither away in the same way that I do now.” And with those last words, Ferrum slumped against the dirt.

Immediately, a layer of cursed rust began to eat away at iron’s surface, starting to puncture holes in its surface. Iron let out a conflicting din of metallic despair, and dove deep into the earth. From that day on, iron has always formed rust when touching the outside air.