Ashes (Of the Earth Series)

Danny's Guide (Matriarchs)

Hey there, fellow end-of-the-world survivors! Danny here, bringing you the lowdown on our new alien overlords. Today's special? The Matriarch. Think of her as the queen bee of our new, messed-up ecosystem, but with more teeth, more claws, and way less honey.

Picture this: a twelve-foot-tall mix of your worst nightmare and that boss you never liked. She's got this head that looks like a snake had a bad date with a velociraptor, complete with a set of eyes that scream, "I'm smarter than you, and I know it." Not "I got a higher test score in math than you," but "I just finished the Saturday Crossword." Serious business. These peepers aren't just for show – they're like high-beam headlights in the dark, sizing you up for her next snack.

Her body is a walking tank. Armored scales? Check. Spikes that make a punk rocker look tame? Double check. And let's not forget those hands – I mean, who needs four of them, each with claws that could double as garden shears?

But wait, there's more! Moves like a shadow, silent and deadly – and with a sense of style that says, "I own this apocalypse." When she sways those extra arms, you know she means business. It's like watching a deadly ballet, only with more disemboweling. And you're on stage. As the main prop. You're the one getting disemboweled if that wasn't abundantly clear. I don't know, nobody ever reads this shit so I'm just fucking rambling. 

Now, the Matriarch didn't just pop out of nowhere. She's a product of the finest alien craftsmanship, spliced from something human (or ape, we're not judging) and turned up to eleven. Doesn't matter which, really, because either way she's Donkey Kong and you're Mario. At minimum, she has all the strength of a Reaver, at maximum, she's got a silverback in there literally waiting to go apeshit. My advice? Don't get into an arm-wrestling match with her. 

So, what's the takeaway from our dear Matriarch? Simple. In this new world order, you're either smart, sneaky, or supper. She's a reminder that evolution has a twisted sense of humor, and we're the punchline.

What are her weaknesses, you say? None. She's got fuckin' none. Your Lamborfeeties are your best bet, I just hope you've got fuel in the tank and recently had an oil change. 

There you have it, folks – the Matriarch in all her terrifying glory. Keep your heads down, your spirits up, and remember – in the world of the Turned, it pays to be a little bit crazy. Until next time, stay alive, and if you can't be safe, be sensational!

Man, do I have a wild story for you. So, picture this: I'm out in the ruins – you know, just a typical Tuesday in our alien-infested paradise, scrounging for something that hasn't mutated into a snack that bites back. Then, out of nowhere, I have a run-in with the queen bee of our new freakshow reality – the Matriarch.

It started like any other day in this circus – me, trying to stay alive and find something edible that wasn't glowing in the dark. I was rummaging through an old convenience store when I heard it – a sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was a low, guttural growl, the kind that says, "You're not alone, and you're probably screwed."

I peeked around the aisle, and there she was, in all her terrifying glory. Twelve feet of muscle, scales, and bad intentions. Her head was something out of a sci-fi horror show – She had this head that looked like a snake had a rough night out, topped with eyes that practically glowed in the dark – creepy, right? Big ass crown growing right out of her head, it was easy to see why we took to calling this thing the Matriarch. Definitely not because of the titties though. 

And yeah, they have titties. Weird, right? Like not full titties. But y'know... Titties. Big bumps on their chest. All scaly, no nips, but titties nonetheless. Like sexy armor from WoW.

Uh no, you're the perv. I reserve the right to whack off to whatever I want. Have you seen the selection of porn lately? It's back to magazines man, and I'm gonna tell you, those magazine pages don't do well with the damp. That's not bush, it's mildew. Alien muscle mommy does it for me, alright? 

Anyway... She was larger than life and twice as ugly, a living nightmare. Take the most intimidating thing you've ever seen, then multiply it by a hundred. I'm not sure if it happened then or during the nap I took after my escape, but at some point during that day, I shat myself, I shat you not. I blame the moldy bread, personally. 

Her whole vibe screamed "I'm the boss around here," with little scales that formed almost chain link armor which looked like they could stop a bullet and spikes that'd make a porcupine jealous. She had four arms and every single one of them could spank me with ease.

The way she moved was freakishly graceful, like a shadow with a vendetta. Those extra limbs weren't just for show – they looked ready for action, whether for grabbing, slashing, or just plain scaring the bejesus out of anyone unlucky enough to cross her path.

So, what did I do, you ask? What any sane person in my shoes would – I noped right out of there. I ran faster than I ever knew I could, not stopping to look back, because let's face it – curiosity killed the cat, but the Matriarch would've killed me faster.

Somehow, I made it out with all my limbs intact. Maybe she wasn't hungry, or maybe she just enjoys a good chase. Either way, I lived to tell the tale.

And that's the tale of my brush with the Matriarch, folks. In this brave new world of ours, remember: it's not about being the strongest; it's about being the smartest (or the fastest runner). Stay safe out there, and keep your sense of humor – it's the one thing these alien freaks can't take from us.