"Cosmic rectification"

In the Stellar Void, near the Netlin Mothership

The battle in the frozen reaches of the solar system, near the orbit of Neptune, had been a brutal exercise in annihilation. The combined fleets of the Draconic Saurians, the Insectoid swarms, and the Grey squadrons had crashed time and again against the impregnable Netlin Mothership, Amitiel's Fallen Shekinah. Although they had inflicted superficial damage, their own forces were being decimated by the waves of "Forced Reality" and the beams of annihilating light emanating from the crystalline citadel.

Amitiel, from her throne of shadows and light at the heart of the ship, watched the conflict with cosmic patience. Her plan was moving forward. Cthulhu, his Elder "brother," was consolidating his awakening on Terra, and soon it would be time for the two to join forces for the next phase of the "Cosmic Rectification." The resistance of the Lyran factions was a nuisance, an unnecessary delay.

It was then that the Fallen Strategist made a decision. A projection of his will, cold and authoritarian, spread across the battlefield toward the battered Lyran commanders.

"Warriors of Lyra," Amitiel's mental voice echoed, not like a negotiation, but like an edict. "Your resistance is... predictably futile, but momentarily inconvenient for the deployment of larger forces. The Fallen Tactician, in his magnanimity, offers you a cessation of hostilities. Cease your suicidal attacks. You will be granted unmolested passage while Ancient One Cthulhu moves from the inner system to join our designated domains. Continue your insolence, and you will be eradicated down to the last fighter, down to the last spore."

As this message was being sent, on distant Earth, something monumental was occurring, something that even Amitiel had not anticipated at the exact moment.

From the depths of the Caribbean Sea, where it had lain dreaming for eons, the vast and inconceivable mass of Cthulhu began to ascend. It wasn't an immediate physical emergence of flesh and tentacles, but a dimensional tear, an eruption of psychic energy and warped reality that caused the ocean to boil and the sky above Cancún to twist into spirals of impossible colors. The mental pressure on the planet reached an insane peak for an instant, and then, with terrifying slowness, began to subside in that area, as if the main source were... rising.

Cthulhu's consciousness, vast as a cosmic ocean, was peeling away from his terrestrial nest. As he ascended through the upper atmosphere, his alien perception swept the surrounding space. He registered the Lyran fleets battling the Netlin. He registered the distant but potent signature of Amitiel's Mothership. And he registered something else... a plethora of unidentified flying objects of various origins—those that had worried the Thirteen Families—maneuvering at the edges of the system, observing, perhaps preparing to intervene or flee. A wave of cold, vast curiosity coursed through the Ancient One's mind at these "new variables" in the great cosmic game. But his immediate objective was different.

He decided to abandon Earth, at least in its most direct and grounded manifestation. Perhaps the resistance of the Aluxes and the elves in Hollow Earth, the tenacity of the mages on the surface, or Nyx's "competition" for fear energy had momentarily rendered the planet... problematic for his immediate purposes. Or perhaps, simply, Amitiel's call and the next phase of their joint plan were now the priority. Thus, even before Amitiel had confirmation of the Lyran factions' acceptance of the truce, Cthulhu began his move toward the domains of his "brother," Netlin.

In outer space, the Saurian, Gray, and Insectoid commanders, whose forces were on the verge of total collapse, received Amitiel's ultimatum just as their sensors detected Cthulhu's massive energy signature moving toward the Netlin fleet, not against it. Desperation was absolute. Continuing to fight Amitiel meant being crushed between two cosmic horrors.

"We accept!" was the almost unified response of the Lyran survivors, a mixture of bitter relief and deep, growing distrust. "A truce? Now? To give Cthulhu 'safe passage'?" Amitiel's sudden change in tactics was suspicious to the core. What game was the Netlin playing? Was this an even bigger trap? But they had no choice. Their fleets were shattered, their worlds lost or threatened.

With a discipline born of eons of war, the Lyran ships ceased their attacks, retreating to a safe distance, watching warily as the colossal Netlin Mothership held its position, waiting.

Amitiel, in his Throne of Light and Shadow, he watched the developments with cold satisfaction. The Ancient One moves according to its own vast inertia, he thought. Predictable in its hunger, in its power. And the vermin of Lyra... they learn the meaning of prudence, even if it is late and under duress.

Now he awaited the arrival of Cthulhu. Together, his Absolute Order and the Primordial Chaos of the Void would turn against Lyra's disorganized and weakened forces, to sweep them from the system and then, perhaps, turn their combined attention toward the pesky little blue jewel called Terra and its unexpectedly resilient defenders. The truce was only a tactical pause in a war of annihilation.