#because it's inspired by the start of mann's guide to the backburner

[transtanium]

Content warning! Fungal body horror/infection.

The foilage rustles in crack-of-dawn, heavy boots trying to make quiet, taking uneven steps through the thick mud.

The sporebound staggers towards a ranger camp-- wheezing, every pained exhale releasing hundreds of spores, pale hands shaking weakly around a grime-coated rifle, fingers twitching as if new to him.

His mouth opens and closes, the fungal growths blossoming from his skull thinking for him.

He's mouthing something, some semblance of words, but there's not enough breath to make sound.

He raises the rifle and cocks his head to the side a bit, lining it up with the lamp tied up over the campsite...

There's a soft hiss from somewhere behind him...

The sporebound aren't particularly perceptive, but that sound. That *sound*. The only predator that a sporebound won't willingly keel over and die for, the only predator that doesn't cough and gasp and choke on thousands of freed spores when the fungi's host is torn apart...

A soft light moves through the foliage towards it, heavy bootsteps accompanying the hiss, a sound the rotting human brain would have once recognized as a pilot light.

The mushroom-man stills, squints reflexively, some ingrained muscle memory from the human that used to operate this flesh.

Out of the oppressively thick foliage, the false muzzle of the fierce predator slinks low, little blue anglerfish light hanging below her jaw.

One last recognizable thought.

"Ssssshhhhit..."

The fire crackles and roars as the fungi-- and host-- are incinerated, firey light reflecting off the predator's true face as she stands over the molten pile of biohazard.