Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

I.

A black powder was falling from the sky. 

Terry stared at the precipitation in confusion; it was too warm for snow, and why would it be dirty this far from civilization? Her gaze turned toward a maple that was dusted with the substance.

The tree was dying before Terry’s eyes. Its leaves had gone brown and fallen. Pustules bubbled up under the bark, splitting it apart. Jumping back in shock, she saw the grove of pines behind her home decaying with the arrival of the terrible substance.

Terry crumpled to her knees, helpless, as the death came to her forest.

II.

Lucas squinted, trying to make out the approaching figures through the gloom. The boy was sheltered in the burnt remains of a house on what used to be a nice street. He adjusted his oxygen mask, letting out a muted cough. 

The figures drew closer. Raiders, searching for spoils in a land of poisoned earth. Three of them, and armed. They scattered like the vultures they were and picked greedily through the suburban ruins.

When he was sure that they wouldn’t see him, Lucas picked up the backpack he had loaded with supplies and slipped away, disappearing into the wasteland.

III.

The planet’s surface was littered with bones. Twisted, mutilated skeletons of trees stood among them, massive grave markers for the species lost. The biologists had seen the sight before on several worlds already.

The taller of the two scanned the soil with several instruments held in his many sets of arms. “Xymethian fungus, without a doubt,” he confirmed, waving his antennae wildly.

The second biologist opened communications with their ship. “Confirmed, the Plague has eradicated this world.”

They sadly entered the shuttle airlock. As the anti-fungal gas surrounded them, they prayed that next time, they would not be too late.