“Finally.” said the Father as he and his group of Emissaries were led to the arena.

The Emissaries of the One Church had been on the island for some time now, waiting for the next tournament to begin. After being invited by the Conglomerate they had eagerly accepted and were surprised at the amount of sophistication that the organization had demonstrated.

The foreigners had never seen a man-made island and were intrigued when they were told of how the island is constantly expanding. They had been given a private lodging and were given free reign to explore until the beginning of the tournament. They had, naturally, attempted to convert many of the members.

They failed.

During their stay the Father had tried one of the local delicacies that many of the members enjoyed, kava. He found it disgusting and had insulted some of the members when he spat it out. He had stomped off angrily, convinced the members had purposely given him a bad drink.

“The sooner we can convert these heathens, the better.” He muttered to one of his followers, sneering as they walked past members and candidates. “I’m tired of being around so many non-believers. They make me feel filthy.”

The man was a devout believer. A few of his party felt he was a little too devout. But the man’s word carried a lot of weight within the church and they were duty bound to accompany him.

All of the Emissaries were dressed gaudily in comparison to the members of the Conglomerate and the various candidates that had assembled. They all wore various golden bands and earrings, jewel studded necklaces, and had various rings that adorned both hands. These were all items that had been blessed by their Holy One, the highest seat of their order. Each item was imbued with an invocation of their orders Voice. Their clothing was of the finest make, expensive silks and fur trimmed. Despite being in a tropical climate they still tried to show off their possessions.

As the group approached the arena, a large and ominously dark place, a man wearing all black and another wearing all white stepped forward. They introduced themselves and led the Emissaries away from the assembled candidates. The man in black reached out and pushed against one of the dark areas of the outer wall of the arena and a door swung open.

As they were entering the Father noticed a beautiful, dark-skinned woman emerge from an adjacent door. The woman was accompanied by a very forgettable looking man. He couldn’t help but stare at the odd couple. The Father found himself mesmerized by her. Amongst his followers he was well known for his deviancy.

“Excuse me.” he yelled, as he turned to approach the woman. To the Father she was just the right flavor of what he liked. He felt he absolutely needed to approach her and bring her into his fold. Before he could walk too far, the man in black was by his side.

“This way Father, the tournament starts soon and you’ll need to get ready before then.” The Father allowed himself to be ushered into the arena but couldn’t shake the thought of the woman.

---

Due to being sponsored, the Emissaries had been given a favorable standing in the tournament seeding. Not all of them were combatants so a core group of 6 were chosen to represent them. Heading the group was the Father.

While all of the Emissaries, who all happened to be men, were of the cloth, most of them had backgrounds in various martial arts. The Father came from a long line of masters-at-arms and was very proficient in hand to hand combat. What the group also had was mastery over their religions Voice and the Father was the most proficient Invoker among the group. The Voice derived its power from their belief in their god. Where the mana the Seas natives use was drawn from within, the Voice drew from the invokers belief.

The group felt this gave them an edge over the rest of the tournament as very few should have experience against their usage of the Voice. Any who had experienced the power of the Voice were now members of the One.

As the first few matches were decided the group began to feel good about their chances. “None of these savages have been all that impressive” mused the Father as he let out a slight yawn. “When is our first match?”

“We are seeded into the next round. We’ll be facing the winners of this match.” answered one of his subordinates.

As he said that the match was decided. A group of 4 had come out on top. They had shown some measure of skill but hadn’t impressed the foreigners. “Well, maybe they’ll be a good warm up.”

---

It was finally time for the Emissaries to make their debut. They were politely ushered out of their waiting room by the two representatives of the Conglomerate.

As they entered the arena the Father noticed that the way they had entered was now a wall of darkness. “Make sure we find out how they do that.” he said aloud. He could just imagine the acclaim he would receive for bringing back the secrets of the savages mana control. A greedy fire had been lit deep within his stomach upon their arrival and the things he’d observed during their stay had only fed it. He could taste the recognition from his triumphant return. All he needed to do was conquer this little tournament.

Across from them the other group had also entered the arena. “Well men, let us show them our superiority.” the Father said as he confidently stepped forward. Once all the combatants were in the arena proper a chime could be heard as the signal for the start of the match.

The opposing group was quick to act. All four approached in a uniform fashion while the Emissaries stood in a V formation, flanking out to either side of the Father.

One of the opposing fighters swept his right hand down his left arm, activating the mana etchings as he broke out into a run. The other three kept pace. All four used large wooden hammers that the natives preferred to use.

The one with the etchings approached the Father. The arm that had the etchings appeared to be solidifying, crusting over into a rocky armor plating. As the man attempted to punch the Father with the plated arm he suddenly froze in place, as did the rest of his group who had been preparing follow up attacks.

As the group had approached, the Father had been busy invoking the Word with a low chant. “And unto us, does his protection fall. So that any who aggress against us may be still.”

The rest of the Emissaries answered with “Grant us swift vindication, so that we may be free of oppression.”

The group collapsed, unconscious, as a chime announced the end of the round.

With a smirk, the Father approached the man with the etchings and pushed his arm around with the toe of his boot. “All that flair and no pay off. Pity.”

Behind them, the two members waited to usher them back into the waiting room.

_______________________________________

In the Domain, Nima watched listlessly as the foreigners exited the arena. He had noticed them on his various outings and felt even less interest in them than the first time he had seen them. This wasn’t the first time he had seen this iteration of the Voice used in the tournaments but he did give them some credit. They seemed to be a bit stronger than the last ones who had used it.

He had been briefed by the Kāinga after the arrival of the foreigners. Rua had accompanied him when they had called and she had scoffed at what they had been told.

“These things think they can win?” she had asked the Kāinga petulantly. “Are they stupid?”

The Kāinga simply shook their heads. They were an extremely literal group.

As he watched the progression of the tournament, Nima couldn’t help but feel a bit vexed. He didn’t like foreigners. While he didn’t hate them as vehemently as ‘Ekolu he still had little patience for them. They all seemed to be the same or have the same ulterior motives. During his long reign as a Tu’i he had come to learn about some of the various cultures that were outside the Seas. The more he learned the less he wanted to know.

“Tamai, who will accept?” asked Rua. She and Nima were the only ones observing the current tournament. The rest of the Tu’i were holed up in their domains. Surprisingly Taha wasn’t hopping around trying to be selected.

Nima let the question sit as he continued to watch. The foreigner leading the group was at least somewhat skilled, he felt. The man knew how to lead but gave off an arrogant air that rubbed Nima the wrong way.

The tournament had progressed smoothly. No strong challengers had appeared and was now leaving Nima feeling slightly disappointed. The only interesting group was the group of foreigners but they just didn’t have that zest.

“You will.” He said as the group of foreigners quickly and efficiently took care of the final group.

With that she silently stood and approached the barrier.

“Rua.” Nima said as she walked out into the arena. “Break them.”

___________________________________________

The Emissaries proudly entered the arena after their short break. They couldn’t help but be awed at the efficiency of the Conglomerates healers. One of their members had taken a blow to the head during the final that appeared to be fatal but the man was quickly healed by the attendant that had been provided. Despite some of the gruesome injuries that had been incurred the tournament had proceeded smoothly due to the Conglomerates competence.

The Father couldn’t suppress the hungry smile that he wore. They had simply overwhelmed all the challengers and now found themselves in the final match. He could taste the acclaim. All he needed to do was defeat this Tu’i. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly stand up to his faith and the power of the Word.

He hadn’t been able to get much information out of the attendants. Both were very tight lipped and made very little small talk. He did catch the younger one looking at his rings so he had instructed one of his subordinates to make offerings. The man was experienced in the ways of conversion, he knew what to look for when it came to the hearts of the unbelievers.

Unlike all of their previous matches, the Emissaries entered an empty arena. They had grown accustomed to being the second group to arrive and had used that time to assess the reactions of their opponents. They all enjoyed the looks that they received. The amount of jewelry they all wore was much more effective when seen in person.

Without delay the Father walked forward, entering the arena with his subordinates in tow. The man refused to allow himself to be cowed by any but the Holy One.

As if in reaction to their approach, the darkness in the opposite corner began to billow. Out of it emerged a beautiful, dark-skinned woman.

The Father was stunned. It was the same woman he had seen when they entered the arena. The rest of the Emissaries were also confused as she was the first female combatant they had come across. Confusion gave way to an inexplicable confidence. They all felt that this would be easy. How could this be the fabled Tu’i they had heard about? A mere woman?

“You are the Tu’i?” he asked, unsure if she would understand him.

“Yes.” she replied, voice neutral and monotone. “I am the one who has accepted your challenge.” She spoke their language perfectly and this surprised the whole group. During their foray into the Seas they had yet to meet any natives who spoke the language fluently. The few that they had met who had a passable understanding were now a part of their entourage.

“Are you the only one?” The Father asked, condescension dripping from his words as he looked around. He had been told the stories by the converts but he was still extremely skeptical. Such power was only reserved for their god. If these heathen gods really existed, why would they grant them to a woman? Folly.

The woman scoffed at his question and nodded. This irked him. He didn’t like this uppity native. His righteous anger was slowly building.

“What do we get when we win?” He asked as he slowly walked towards the woman. A lascivious smile spread across his face as his subordinates followed his lead, spreading out and forming a loose circle around her.

“Whatever you wish.” She said, looking him directly in the eyes. Either she didn’t notice the men encircling her or she didn’t care. He did like the confident ones. They were the most satisfying to break. He liked the defiant look in her eyes and he looked forward to watching her bravado crumble.

With a slight laugh the Father pulled a thin braid of rope out of his pocket. This was his signal for his men to attack.

In tandem all the Emissaries moved to attack. Foolishly, they felt they didn’t all need to use the Word against a lone woman. Four of them moved to attack with their bare fists while the Father and one other began chanting.

The Father began his chant which had worked without fail so far. “And unto us, does his protection fall. So that any who aggress against us may be still.”

For a brief moment he looked down at the rope that he clutched in his hands. He could feel the excitement rushing through his body as he anticipated the quick end of the challenge.Under his robe his loins stirred as an image of the lovely woman in nothing but his bondage momentarily invaded and took over all thought.

When he looked up he found her mere inches away from his face. He had no time to exclaim as he was tipped over.

“A pity. Is that all your Voice amounts to?” she drawled, letting the words roll off her tongue. The man crashed to the ground, stiff as a board.

The Father was absolutely dumbfounded. He found himself lying on his back looking up at the expansive ceiling of the arena. Around him he could hear the groans of his subordinates.

He couldn’t move his head. His body was frozen stiff, he couldn’t even move his eyes. From where he lay all he could hear were the footsteps of the woman and the slight groans of the other Emissaries.

“You know, you foreigners are all the same.” She said as her face floated into view. “Every few tournaments we get a group who thinks they’re hot shit. So, we let them through so we can compare gods.” She walked away but her voice continued to fill his ears as if she were right next to him.

"I doubt you've even met yours. Have you? Because I've met mine and he makes you little kaivalagi look so ruefully small."

Even though she had a lithe build every step she took made the ground rumble.

“I’ve found all of your gods wanting.”

The Father noticed that with each step he could hear an accompanying crunch. It sounded like she was taking a walk through a muddy field that was littered with dry twigs.

When she finally came back into view he noticed she now carried the putrid stink of wet rust. She reached down and rubbed his cheek as if she were greeting a pet.

“You’re lucky, you know?” were the last words the Father heard before losing consciousness.