Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Cost of Survival

Camelot's great hall buzzed with tension as the Vanguard convened to address the next stage of the war. Britain remained the only region free of Inphel occupation, and the weight of leading humanity's resistance pressed heavily on them all.

Swift Angel stood at the head of the table, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the maps and documents scattered before them. "We cannot afford to wait," he said, his voice firm. "The Inphel have turned the rest of Earth into breeding grounds and slaughterhouses. We need to take the fight to them."

His plan was as audacious as it was brutal: to train eradicator squads—small, elite units capable of infiltrating occupied territories, dismantling Inphel operations, and paving the way for larger invasions.

"Shadowbane," Swift Angel continued, turning to the dark-clad strategist. "You'll lead the training and oversee the resistance networks. You know how to work in the shadows better than anyone."

Shadowbane nodded, her expression unreadable. "I can do it. But this won't be clean. There will be sacrifices."

"There always are," Swift Angel replied.

As the meeting continued, tensions flared.

"This isn't just about tactics," Lumina interjected, her glow dimmed by fatigue. "We're talking about sending people—civilians—into enemy territory. Most of them won't come back."

"And what's the alternative?" Firebrand snapped, his flames flickering with agitation. "Sit here and wait for the Inphel to finish us off?"

Fantasia's voice was calm but sharp. "There has to be a middle ground. We can't fight this war with reckless abandon. We need strategy, not desperation."

Swift Angel slammed his hand on the table. "This is strategy. If we don't act now, there won't be anyone left to save."

Arthur, seated at the far end of the table, raised a hand for silence. "Enough. This war tests all of us. But if we lose ourselves in the fight, we've already lost."

Bandruí watched the exchange in silence, her fae guardians flitting nervously around her. She finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. "I understand the need for action, but we must tread carefully. The Inphel thrive on chaos. If we give them more, we're playing into their hands."

Swift Angel turned to her, his gaze sharp. "And what do you suggest, Bandruí? That we sit here and let them slaughter our world?"

"No," she replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "But we must act with purpose. Not every battle is won with fire and steel. Sometimes, the earth must grow silently before it can bloom."

Across the Channel, in the devastated remains of France, an Inphel stronghold rose amidst the rubble of a once-thriving city. Inside, the twisted mind of Doctor-General Vlazik orchestrated a gruesome experiment.

Vlazik's laboratory was a nightmarish fusion of biology and technology. Tanks of viscous green fluid lined the walls, each one containing the grotesque forms of failed experiments—women spliced with Inphel DNA, their bodies distorted and barely recognisable.

"Progress," Vlazik croaked, his wide mouth curling into a grotesque smile. "Progress demands sacrifice."

His goal was clear: to create an army of superpowered Matrons capable of turning the tide of war in the Inphel's favour. Using captured superpowered women, Vlazik sought to combine their abilities with Inphel genetic memory, crafting a new generation of soldiers bound to the High Matron's will.

One of his assistants, a young Inphel with an ornate but simple codpiece, approached hesitantly. "Doctor-General, most of the subjects are failing. Their human bodies cannot withstand the genetic fusion."

Vlazik waved a clawed hand dismissively. "Failures are expected. But the successes... they will be perfect."

Back in Camelot, Shadowbane began recruiting and training for the eradicator squads. The work was gruelling, and the recruits—ordinary civilians with no formal combat experience—were pushed to their limits.

"Why are you doing this?" one of the recruits asked during a brutal training session. "We're just going to die out there."

Shadowbane's voice was cold but steady. "You're fighting for something bigger than yourself. If you succeed, you'll give the world a chance to fight back. If you fail, you'll inspire others to stand where you fell."

Despite their shared goal, the Vanguard's unity continued to fray. Christopher pulled Bandruí aside after a heated council meeting.

"You've been quiet," he said, lighting a cigarette. "What's going on in that glowing head of yours?"

Bandruí smiled faintly, her gaze distant. "I see both sides, Father. Swift Angel's urgency and Lumina's caution. But the longer this war drags on, the more we lose—of ourselves, of what we're fighting for."

Christopher exhaled a plume of smoke. "You sound a lot older than you should."

Bandruí's expression softened. "I've had to grow up quickly. But I'm still figuring out what kind of leader I want to be."

Christopher placed a hand on her shoulder. "You'll figure it out. Just don't lose sight of who you are."

As preparations for the eradicator squads continued, Arthur addressed the people of Camelot.

"This war is unlike any we have faced," he said, his voice resonating through the great hall. "But even in the darkest moments, there is hope. We are the last free bastion of humanity. And we will not falter."

The crowd erupted into cheers, their determination renewed.