The unsettling phenomenon gradually spread. First came fungi that kept growing until they were the size of small cars.
Then vast stretches of rebar and iron plates coated in rustproofing rapidly withered away, rust flakes drifting through the air. Even the Ecclesiarchy church could not escape the effects.
Out in the wilderness, trees began growing in areas that had been designated uninhabited zones and high-radiation regions.
All kinds of vegetation flourished, and even the flies had grown as fat as thumbs.
Yet the air was incredibly dry. Many people's lips cracked, and their noses bled from time to time. If anyone had gathered statistics at that moment, they would have found that thirty percent of the population showed no symptoms at all.
On the second day, all the trees that had sprung from the ground overnight grew all kinds of fungi on their bark. They spat out spores, as though the trees were shaking dust from their bodies.
The spores gathered in the air, forming enormous clouds so dense that one could not see a hand in front of one's face. They slowly drifted toward the hive city.
The crisis alarm sounded. Work ceased, and everyone found a sealed shelter to hide in, trembling as they prayed for The Emperor's protection.
On the third day, the spore clouds came quickly and left quickly. Seeing that the hive city had changed little, everyone felt that aside from dry mouths and parched tongues, they had no other problems.
On the fourth day, seventy percent of the hive city's population simultaneously contracted seven different diseases, dealing another crushing blow to the already collapsed medical system.
Before the medicines in the military hospitals could even be used, they began to rot. Yellow-green, foul-smelling fluid seeped through their sealed containers.
The few remaining doctors did