THE GREAT UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD

Amitiel Citadel, Neptune Orbit

The combined presence of Amitiel and Cthulhu in the command room of the Netlin Mothership was a symphony of cosmic power and primordial terror. The spatial distortions around Cthulhu's manifestation made the orderly, crystalline Netlin architecture appear to ripple like a reflection in turbulent waters. The lesser Netlin Luciferians maintained a tense reverence, their inner light dimmed by the overwhelming will of the two titans.

Amitiel, from his throne of dark light, gazed down upon the collective psyche of Terra, now a chaotic canvas upon which he and his "elder brother" would paint their masterpiece of Absolute Order.

"This new aeon," Amitiel projected, her mental voice echoing in the consciousness of her Luciferian lieutenants and in the vast mind of Cthulhu, "this dawn of Cosmic Truth and Harmony born of our unified will, will need a banner, a name that inspires due reverence and discourages all dissent across the galaxies. It will not be a vulgar empire, founded on mere conquest." A pause. "It will be a Grand Confederation of worlds guided toward their inevitable perfection. A Great Brotherhood of all beings who understand and joyfully accept their predestined place in the immutable design of the multiverse."

From the vortex of alien tentacles and eyes, Cthulhu's approval resounded like the collapse of a neutron star: "The... Brotherhood... of... the... Deep... Silence... and... the... Eternal... Truth... Yes... So it shall be..."

Amitiel nodded, an imperceptible curve to his perfect lips. "And to ensure the transition and maintain Order on those worlds with recalcitrant populations, or where pre-existing, rogue dark powers nest," he continued, "we will require agents of a particular caliber. Beings of the ancient night, imbued with a power most day-breathing races fear and fail to understand. Those who understand the necessity of dominion and the sweet song of blood spilled in the name of a transcendent purpose."

A new holographic projection appeared before him, showing not stars or fleets, but ancient, shadowy silhouettes, some vaguely humanoid but with draconic features, others shrouded in primordial darkness. "There is an almost forgotten lineage," Amitiel mused, "the Drackutulus. Offspring of the Primordial Night and the Black Starfire, almost as ancient as the first vampiric errors of Terra, but of a different stock, more... majestic in its darkness, more tied to the deep telluric energies and the blood of extinct star dragons. They have remained hidden, fragmented by forgotten wars and hunts of other ages. It is time to call them into the service of the Grand Confederation."

He turned to one of his most powerful Luciferian heralds, an entity of cold light and wings like obsidian blades. "Send the Summons across the shadow planes. Let the scattered Drackutulus know that a new Black Sun has dawned in this system, and that their ancestral power will be recognized and rewarded under our unified banner."

The herald bowed deeply and vanished.

"Of course," Amitiel added, a gleam of cold, almost academic amusement dancing in his quasar-like eyes, "for the less... enlightened galactic masses... for worlds that need to be 'guided' with more gentleness and less outright terror into the embrace of Order, our Grand Confederation will present itself under a more... palatable and comforting banner." A new symbol, perhaps a harmonious and deceptively peaceful spiral of light, appeared on the holoprojector. "You will know it, and acclaim it, as the GREAT UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD. A beacon of interstellar peace, shared progress, and mutual understanding under our benevolent guidance." The hypocrisy was as vast as the cosmos itself.

It was then that a Luciferian Netlin, a techno-priest in charge of interdimensional communications, cautiously stepped forward. "Supreme Commander, Great Old One," his mental voice was a respectful whisper but laden with technical concern. "The transmission of the New Directives to the designated, or yet-to-be-designated, leaders of the planet Terra presents a... considerable challenge. Our combined presence, and the constant psychic emanation of the Great Old One, saturates dimensional and psionic frequencies to a critical point. Any attempt at direct communication with unprepared, untuned human minds would result in... catastrophic neural disruption for the recipients. Their consciousnesses would disintegrate before processing the first edict."

Amitiel considered this, his perfect face impassive. "True. The human mind, in its current state, is fragile like dirty, scratched glass. We need a conduit, a filter, a transducer that modulates our Will to a spectrum that their limited, chaotic consciousnesses can endure without

disintegrate into madness or nothingness." His gaze became imperious. "Should we continue with the remnants of the Thirteen Families as our primary interlocutors, or have they proven too... flawed and inefficient for the task? Or should we identify and 'elevate' new human leaders, those who show greater... receptivity to the true liberation we offer?"

He paused. "Regardless of whom we ultimately turn to on Terra to implement the New Order," Amitiel decreed, "the need for a new communications device is paramount and urgent. Let the techno-priests and reality weavers of our Inner Circle begin its design immediately. A herald who speaks with our unified voice, but with a breath that does not pulverize the listeners." The Earth must receive its new and liberating laws."

The orders were given. In the cold and orderly citadel of Amitiel, the gears of a new form of cosmic tyranny, disguised as universal brotherhood, began to turn. And the first task was to find a way to whisper its edicts into humanity's ear without blowing their minds.