They've lost control! No, Lucian's dead!!

The night in Cancún had become a nightmarish canvas painted with blood, shadows, and the sickening light of Cthulhu. Dracula and Malakor, evolved and terrible, were two vortices of destruction amidst the Blood Faerie horde, but even their combined might could not stem the relentless tide. The Punishers, ancient warriors of the night, fought with the discipline etched into their immortal souls, but fatigue, wounds, and sheer desperation were beginning to take their toll. Their numbers were dwindling.

"Hold the line!" roared one of the older Punisher captains, a silver and obsidian greatsword whistling through the air, cleaving a Faerie before another tore into its flank. They were growing weaker, their ancient resilience sapped by the constant psychic pressure and corrupting magic of their opponents. They knew nothing but to fight, die, and take as many of their enemies with them as possible.

Morgana Le Fay, watching the carnage from a raised platform improvised by Merlin's magic, gritted her teeth. The Dark Fae Goddess felt a visceral revulsion at the sight of Fae beings, even the cruel Blood Fae, turned into mindless puppets by cosmic horror. Her pride, her connection to the essence of Fae, rebelled.

"Enough of this desecration!" she hissed. Her own energy, emerald and thorny shadows, erupted around her. It wasn't a direct attack, but a chant of ancient power, a Fae dissonance woven with threads of glamour and countermagic. She aimed at the hive mind Cthulhu imposed on the Fae. "Listen to your own blood, daughters of Night and Twilight! Not the call of the Abyss!"

His magic spread, and for an instant, some Blood Fey faltered, their movements becoming erratic, their sickly green eyes flickering with confusion as Morgana's will fought against Cthulhu's control. It created a gap, an opportunity.

But the tide was too strong. For a veteran Punisher named Lucian, the distraction came too late. He was fighting back-to-back with a brother-in-arms when a Blood Fey, with the unnatural strength granted to him by Cthulhu, slipped between his defenses. There was a flash of psychic obsidian claws, a strangled scream, and Lucian's body was brutally split in two from shoulder to hip, his halves falling to the ground with a final, wet thud.

Dracula saw it.

The world seemed to stop for the former prince. The sight of Lucian, his faithful warrior for over five hundred years, shattered so ignominiously, broke something inside him. The iron control he had maintained even after drinking Sorcha's chaotic blood shattered.

A roar that was not of this world, a sound that was the quintessence of loss, fury, and primal power, erupted from his throat. The shadow wings on his back expanded to monstrous size, each feather dripping with tangible darkness. His eyes were no longer red or crimson; they were two abysses of pure starry night, the light of dead suns burning in their depths.

"ENOUGH!" The word was not spoken; it was a shockwave of pure will and terror that swept across the battlefield.

The air around them thickened, the shadows twisting and solidifying into titanic claws and tentacles of pure darkness that lunged at the Blood Faeries. They were no longer the graceful gusts of blood; they were annihilation personified. A wave of despair and primal fear emanated from him, so powerful that even the Cthulhu-controlled Faeries faltered, their movements becoming clumsy for an instant. Dracula became the center of a storm of destruction, each move a death sentence, his overwhelming power sweeping through dozens of enemies in an instant.

Dracula's burst of power had a side effect. Malakor, the chaotic vampire, already struggling at the limits of his control, felt the surge of primordial energy from his sire. The resonance was too much. The thin veneer of control that Sorcha or his own bruised will had managed to impose shattered.

Malakor's eyes turned completely black, with red streaks of chaotic lightning dancing within them. An animal scream erupted from him, and his body was engulfed in dark flames and crackling lightning. He could no longer distinguish between friend and foe in his sector. He launched himself at the Blood Fairies with suicidal intensity, his blows now imbued not only with vampiric strength, but also with erratic blasts of hellfire and electric shocks that charred everything in his path. He was a force of nature unleashed, as dangerous to the Fairies as to anyone who stood in his way.

In the command center, Merlin watched in growing horror. "They've lost control!" he gasped. "Dracula... Malakor... His power is immense, But it's consuming them! 

Aria felt the surge of dark, chaotic power. Lucian's death had unleashed something terrible in Dracula, and Malakor was now a walking storm. Morgana's intervention, though brave, seemed to have been only a drop in the ocean against the tide of Cthulhu, and now the battlefield had become even more chaotic and dangerous, with her own "allies" becoming uncontrollable forces. The night in Cancún was a raging hell.