The creation of 1,500 new warriors

Morgana's revelation of the unholy alliance between Cthulhu and the Luciferian Netlins, and the truth about Amitiel, had left the group in Cancún in a state of icy horror. The hope Enki had brought had vanished, replaced by the certainty of cosmic betrayal and the imminence of a unified and monstrously powerful enemy. Nyx and Poimandres, though still resisting, were being crushed. Amitiel's ultimatum now seemed like a cruel mockery.

Amid the despair-filled silence, Quetzal's voice rose, firm and resonant like the chant of an ancient priest atop a pyramid.

"All is not lost, Children of the Surface and of Eternal Night," he said, his amber gaze scanning the distraught faces. "As long as Gaia breathes and the blood of this sacred land flows, there is power we can summon, defenses we can weave. Our ancestors didn't just build with stone and watch the stars; they learned to converse with the spirit of clay and infuse the breath of will into the dust."

He turned to the Umbrian wizards, to Sorcha and Silas, and even to Dracula, whose expression was a mask of cold fury. "I will teach you to summon the guardians of earth and spirit: the Warrior Aluxes. Small in form, but immense in loyalty and ferocity when awakened by a powerful will and righteous purpose."

The idea was so unexpected, so... earthly, compared to the Keys of Solomon or the Emerald Tablet, that some hesitated at first. But the conviction in Quetzal's voice and the palpable energy emanating from him and his wizards were undeniable.

"We will need dust from this earth," Itzamná Balam explained, pointing to the soil of Cancún, now imbued with the energies of the vortex and Gaia's awakened consciousness. "Sacred clay, if possible, or even the sand of these beaches, consecrated. And then... your energy. Your K'uh, your Chi, your vitae, your magical essence. Each Alux will be an echo of your own spirit, an extension of your will, and a miniature of your power."

Under the expert guidance of Quetzal, Ix Mukul, and Ek Chuah, a frenetic and unprecedented ritual began in a cleared area of ​​the laboratory, now converted into a makeshift power circle. Mounds of local earth and sand were quickly consecrated with Mayan chants and the combined energy of Merlin and Quetzal. Then, each magician, sorcerer, and vampire was instructed.

They were to take a handful of this sacred dust and focus all their intention, all their personal energy, on it. Aria felt her new emerald and golden magic flow from her hands into the earth, imbuing it with her desire to protect, with her resonance of truth. Kaelen infused his handful with the fury of the wind. Merlin, with titanic concentration, channeled echoes of the magic of creation itself. Sorcha, grimacing, poured a drop of her chaotic blood, while Malakor, the new vampire, roared as he imbued the earth with his elemental fury and his newly acquired undeath. Dracula, though skeptical, understood the potential and ordered his most powerful Punishers to participate, their ancient vitae flowing into the dust with a cold, controlled intensity.

As the energy poured in, the dust began to churn, to swirl, to take shape. Small humanoid figures, no taller than a man's knee, solidified, their bodies made of compacted earth, but their eyes glowing with the essence of their creator.

The process was miraculously swift, driven by desperation, the mastery of the Mayans, and the concentrated power of so many magical beings. In less than three hours, the laboratory and its surroundings were filled with a miniature army. 1,500 Warrior Aluxes stood silently, ready.

And what was most astonishing was their diversity. The Aluxes Aria created glowed with a faint green and gold light and moved with serene grace, their small hands capable of projecting pulses of calming energy or bursts of truth that could disorient. Kaelen's were surrounded by tiny whirlwinds, their movements swift as the wind. Merlin's were like small earth golems imbued with palpable arcane wisdom, capable of weaving shields or casting miniature versions of her spells. Sorcha's were a deep red, with eyes that burned with chaotic fire, capable of launching small bolts of entropic energy. The Punishers' Aluxes were pale, incredibly swift, and silent, their small claws and fangs gleaming in the gloom. Even Malakor had created Aluxes that crackled with unstable elemental and vampiric energy.

"Each one," Quetzal explained, surveying the scene approvingly, "carries a spark of your power, your strength, your soul. They will fight with your skills, they will die to protect you. They are your children of the earth and the earth spirit."

A new kind of hope, a fierce and earthly hope, arose in the hearts of the group. They had been betrayed by the Netlin, Nyx was on the brink of annihilation by an unholy alliance, and Cthulhu remained an existential threat. But now, they had an army. An army born from their very essence, loyal to the end, imbued with a myriad of magical powers.

The 1,500 Alux Warriors stood motionless, their glowing eyes fixed on their creators, waiting for the command. They were ready for battle. The night in Cancún, already saturated with cosmic horrors and ancient magic, had just added a formidable new contingent to the war for Earth's survival. The question now was: would they be enough?