Chapter Sixty: The Rise of the Matrons

Doctor-General Vlazik stood in the centre of his grotesque laboratory, the green glow of incubation tanks reflecting off his glistening, mottled skin. The stench of antiseptic and decay filled the air as he moved between the rows of failed experiments—women fused with Inphel DNA, their bodies contorted into lifeless abominations.

He croaked softly to himself, his wide mouth curling into a grotesque smile as he approached a single tank that pulsed with a brighter light. Inside floated the culmination of his twisted vision: a woman with alabaster skin, her form both terrifying and beautiful.

"This one," Vlazik muttered, his clawed hands pressing against the tank's surface. "She is the key. She will herald a new generation of Matrons."

The tank drained with a hiss, the viscous fluid spilling into grates on the floor. The woman collapsed onto the cold metal, her body trembling as her glowing eyes snapped open.

She rose unsteadily, her movements jerky but filled with an unnatural grace. Her body shimmered with faint bioluminescence, and faint tendrils of energy crackled around her hands.

Vlazik stepped forward, his voice filled with a mix of reverence and glee. "Welcome, my child. You are the future of the Inphel."

The woman's gaze fixed on him, her expression cold and devoid of emotion. "What... am I?" she asked, her voice a haunting blend of human and mechanical tones.

"You are perfection," Vlazik replied. "A union of human power and Inphel resilience. You will lead an army of your kind, and together, we will crush the resistance."

Vlazik gestured toward a group of human prisoners chained against the wall. "Show me your strength," he commanded.

The woman raised her hand, and a surge of energy erupted from her fingertips, incinerating the prisoners in an instant. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room, and Vlazik croaked with satisfaction.

"Yes," he said, his voice trembling with excitement. "You are the first. But you will not be the last."

Over the following weeks, more women were subjected to Vlazik's horrific experiments. Most died in agony, their bodies unable to withstand the genetic fusion. But a few survived, their transformations as harrowing as they were powerful.

The new Matrons were faster, stronger, and more resilient than any Inphel soldier. Each one possessed unique abilities—control over fire, manipulation of gravity, and even the ability to bend light to become invisible.

Vlazik addressed his growing army in the ruins of an old cathedral, his voice echoing through the desecrated space. "You are my creations. My warriors. You will lead the charge against the humans who dare to defy us. And you will bring me their leaders alive."

The Matrons bowed their heads, their eyes glowing with an eerie light.

A psychic transmission rippled through the occupied territories, connecting Vlazik to the High Matron aboard the Inphel fleet.

"You have succeeded, Vlazik," the Matron croaked, her voice reverberating in his mind. "Your creations will ensure our victory."

Vlazik bowed deeply. "Thank you, High Matron. These women are the pinnacle of our work—a testament to the glory of the Inphel."

"Do not fail me," the Matron warned. "Their power must be harnessed, not feared. If they turn against us, you will answer for it."

"They are loyal," Vlazik replied, his voice trembling. "They exist only to serve."

As the Matrons began their training, whispers of their existence reached the resistance network being established by Shadowbane and her operatives. Messages smuggled out of France spoke of women transformed into monsters—creatures who could decimate entire squads of freedom fighters with a single gesture.

In Camelot, Shadowbane shared their reports with the Vanguard. "If these rumours are true, the Inphel have found a way to weaponize human powers against us. We need to act before they can field these... things in battle."

Arthur's expression darkened as he read the reports. "This changes everything. We cannot allow these Matrons to gain a foothold."

Bandruí, seated at the far end of the table, listened intently as the others debated their response. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but firm. "These women are victims, not enemies. If we face them, we must do so with the intent to save them—not destroy them."

Firebrand scoffed. "Save them? You think they can be saved after what the Inphel have done to them?"

"They must be," Bandruí replied, her eyes glowing faintly. "Because if we abandon them, we become no better than the monsters we fight."

Arthur nodded. "Bandruí is right. These women deserve more than to be pawns in the Inphel's game. We will find a way to free them."