The blood fairies!

Enlil's revelation and the subsequent confirmation by the other Lyran factions that they would no longer pay tribute to Cthulhu had left the command center in a state of strategic chaos. But before they could formulate a coherent plan to deal with these new and volatile "quasi-allies," the most immediate and overbearing threat returned.

The mental presence of Amitiel, Supreme Commander Netlin, manifested again, this time not as a message, but as an imposing holographic projection in the center of the room. His figure of cold, angelic light exuded a power and authority that made the air itself seem thin.

"Terra, your leaders have deliberated long enough," Amitiel proclaimed, his voice echoing soundlessly directly into their minds. "The Ancient One prepares for its true ascension. Your planet will be the crucible. The demand for your loyalty and the surrender of your artifacts of power—the Tablet, the Keystones, the knowledge of planetary consciousness—is final. Your obedience will ensure a role, however minor, in the Order that will prevail. Resistance…" He let the threat hang.

Merlin stepped forward, his ancient face hardened by steely resolve. Beside him, Quetzal stood tall, his amber eyes fixed on the Netlin. Aria, flanked by Kaelen, felt the new emerald and gold magic burn within her.

"Commander Amitiel," Merlin began, his voice calm but unyielding. "We have considered your… ultimatum. And we have received new intelligence. Intelligence that suggests your 'war' against the Ancient One is a sham."

Aria spoke, her voice clear and resonant with the truth she had perceived. "We know of the Luciferians, Commander. We know of your alliance with Cthulhu in the Lyran Wars. And we know of your unholy brotherhood with the very being you claim to fight!"

For an instant, Amitiel's impassive figure of light seemed to waver. Then, a cold, ancient, and terrifying laugh erupted from the projection, a sound that had nothing celestial and everything cosmic mockery.

"Mortals! Creatures of the slime!" Amitiel cackled, her luminous form flickering with dark amusement. "Did you truly believe that the Order we Netlin represent is yours, the Order of your pathetic hopes and fears? That our millennia-long war is for your petty survival?" The mask of fallen nobility faded, revealing icy contempt. "Cthulhu is a primordial power, a force of cosmic nature. A brother in the great and eternal void, yes! Our 'conflict' is a dance of dominance, a way to ensure that the harvest of this universe is... efficient. And you, with your Gaia and your pocket magic, are only the grain to be threshed, or the soil to be purged and reseeded."

As Amitiel gloated over her revealed deception, a new wave of psychic terror, more focused and malicious than Cthulhu's constant pressure, struck the base. This time, it had a Fae quality, twisted and crazed.

"The Blood Fae!" cried Morgana, who had been watching with suppressed fury. "But this energy... is being directed! Controlled!"

From the darkness of the tropical night, a myriad of beautiful and terrible figures descended upon the base. They were the Blood Faeries, their wings like crystals of clotted blood, their eyes glowing with Cthulhu's sickly green light. They no longer moved with their own capricious cruelty; now they were puppets, their movements unnaturally coordinated, an extension of the Ancient One's will.

"It seems my brother has decided to humble you for your insolence!" Amitiel mocked from her projection, as the Faeries attacked the magical barriers.

Dracula didn't wait. "Punishers!" he roared. "To the defense! They are not themselves! It is the Sleeper's mind that pulls their strings!"

He and his vampires flung themselves into the fray, becoming blurs of speed and pale fury. They collided with the Cthulhu-controlled Faeries in an explosion of dark magic and supernatural violence. The Faerie attacks were now more potent, imbued with the madness of the Void, their ethereal claws draining not only blood but also sanity.

The fight was terrible. The Punishers, though ferocious, were outnumbered and faced an enemy whose tactics were unpredictable and whose new source of power was alien. Dracula himself, fighting like an ancient demon, found himself suddenly isolated, surrounded by a circle of the most powerful Faeries, their coordinated attacks pushing him back, his defenses beginning to buckle under the relentless pressure. He felt the burn of their psychic touches, weakness creeping through his immortal limbs. He was cornered.

"Prince!" The cry came from Sorcha of the Crimson Hand.

Seeing Dracula in mortal danger, the leader of the Red Wizards

She acted without hesitation. The survival of her small Circle now depended entirely on the vampire. With a cry of fury, she thrust forth her crimson gauntlet, and the blood she had shed for the pact—and perhaps more, drawn from herself in that instant—exploded outward in a seething, shadowy torrent. It was no subtle spell; it was an eruption of pure, concentrated Chaos, a nova of corrupted vitae and elemental energy.

The surge of chaotic blood struck the Faeries surrounding Dracula, causing them to shriek and recoil, their ethereal forms momentarily disrupted by the raw entropic energy. It gave Dracula the respite he needed.

The battle for the Cancún base had erupted with renewed fury, as the mocking image of Amitiel watched the chaos he and his "brother" Cthulhu had unleashed. The Netlins' betrayal was now an open wound, and the fight for survival had become even more desperate.