The Spore Launchers boomed, volleyed down the line. Artillery echoed from miles north to miles south.

How much longer of this war? How much more can our once beautiful planet take?

Enemy spores burst far above, in the clouds. That was the cue to don the breathing masks. Soon, the ground would become orange, stained with the maleficent fire of the scourge. It would spread, extinguishing native life like a match to gasoline, always faster than it could sustain itself. It only took several days for them to die, leaving behind a sickly corpse that would dust, float into the atmosphere, and blacken the sky with soot; the soot of those lives it consumed. And, in their death, they would darken the world as vengeance to those responsible for their deaths.

Another volley from the spore launchers. Another land, many miles away, infected by the infestation. A single green leaf, and it would root and vein to the branch, tree, then the entire forest.