“Amazing, they’re pretty good,” mused Taha, tone dripping with mockery. The bald, deformed little thing hopped back and forth from one foot to the other, slitted eyes gleaming with ill-intent.
Out of the group inhabiting the amorphous confines of the Domain, he showed the most interest.
“Look,” he exclaimed as he excitedly nudged the stoic giant sitting cross-legged next to him. “They move so fluidly, like they’re connected.” His smile, if it could be called that, split his ugly face, creasing it into a predatory mask. The quiet confines of the Domain echoed the disturbing way his chapped lips tore and split as his smile grew. His excitement and anticipation were palpable, sinewy arms trembling under his barely contained emotion as his bulbous stomach jiggled to the rhythm of his childish hopping.
“Please, let me take care of this one?” His enthusiasm made him speak faster as he fell into old speech habits. “Is only a small group and I ain’t been out in so damned long!” A snakelike hiss followed his words as his long, white-tinged tongue flicked out between his sharpened teeth. Waves of hot, steamy lust flowed out from him as a shadow wrapped his lower body, concealing the embarrassing rise beneath his dingy shorts.
His expectant smile grew and morphed, stretching out as the yellow gleam of his grimy teeth turned on Nima. The little things leer faltered, glistening lust dimming, as he locked eyes with the leader of the Tu’i.
The man Taha was focused on was plain and remarkably average. Dressed for comfort, he gave off the air of one who was always incredibly bored. And yet, the natural deference that the other beings showed him was noticeable. His indifferent stare bore into Taha, causing the little man to avert his gaze as his excitement stumbled under the immense pressure. Nima shifted his crossed leg closer to his abdomen as he rubbed his chin.
Taha flinched, wincing as he braced himself. A smirk crossed Nima’s unremarkable face, shifting the litany of faded scars that riddled his leathery, wind-worn face.
A threatening hiss assaulted the little man as one of the other inhabitants answered in Nima’s stead.
“Shut up boy, you talk too much,” Rua clicked her tongue at Taha as she shifted her form dangerously. The woman’s beautiful dark skin glowed even in the confined darkness of the Domain. Her sharp features, accented by long braided locs, made it seem as if she were constantly scowling. She bared her teeth at the childish little thing.
“‘Ekolu.” Nima’s voice was quiet, reserved, tired.
Taha’s face twisted into a grimace as he turned away from the leader. Head drooping with disappointment, he dragged himself away with a quiet, muttered curse. Rua’s sharp eyes followed him, upper lip twitching in disgust.
Quietly, ‘Ekolu stood and exited the Domain, ready to accept the Challengers.
_______________________________________
A door swung open, revealing a dim hallway that appeared to end before it even began. One by one a group of four stepped out, skirting around the member who held the strange door open for them.
The first two to step out were a native man and a woman, both handsomely built, lean, muscular bodies rippling under their light clothing. Scars riddled their bodies, boasting of their long lives as raiders and warband leaders. The two who followed were an odd pair, to say the least. One was a tall, lanky foreign man whose eyes twitched and darted as he scanned every visible inch of the new place they entered. The other a sinewy native man wearing an interesting wooden mask, decorated with earthen plumage, and was actively rubbing intricate markings onto his skin using bright chalks.
The group looked around the arena, taking in its sheer size. Four massive pillars rose from the ground, supporting the domed roof. If one was to look closely enough they would be able to see the outside sky through the latticed dome. But a feeling of extreme disquiet settled over the group as they tried to peer out at the unsettling backdrop of the Motu. The pillars marked the outer limits of the dueling grounds.
“When you’re all ready, please approach the middle. As with your earlier matches, a chime will announce the beginning as soon as the accepting party enters.” The members' quiet, reserved instructions fell on deaf ears as the group continued to look around. With a quiet sigh, the door clicked shut as the member retreated into the confines of the arena’s hallways.
“Well, time to see what all the fuss is about,” The woman rotated her muscular arms, shoulders popping with a satisfying snap. Her beige tank top fluttered as she slowly got into the swing of her pre-fight routine. “I thought we’d get at least one good fight before meeting the mysterious folks.”
“We can believe some, but not all, of the rumors,” the native man followed suit, rotating his shoulders and neck. His bronze, sun-kissed skin glowed as his tatau activated, one by one. As he spoke a marking on his throat flared, altering each word so his foreign companions could understand. “I just hope it isn’t the little thing we heard about.”
A long tupenu, a sarong usually worn by men, clung to his shapely legs, cinched tightly with a braided rope wrapping all the way around his hips like a belt. The leg flaps were tucked behind his knees as he rolled the top, shortening it so that he could move freely without worrying about it splaying open. His upper body was marked with his familial tatau, covering his torso and broad shoulders. Slowly he activated each one, preparing his mind and body for the coming violence.
“Somethings wrong,” the lanky, twitching foreigner noted, his eyes still fixed on the odd roof. A queasy sensation made him rock back and forth. “This place feels really weird, boss.”
Two flintlock rifles hung at his waist, attached to a leather contraption that he’d made himself. It allowed him to quickly switch between weapons based on his needs without having to put one down. The rest of his ensemble was just as eclectic, making him look like a patchwork leather golem. Up and down his vest hung various pockets, each fastened by a small magnetic button. His heeled boots, strapped up past his ankles for safety, also had small pockets sewn into the tongues, hiding his emergency rounds.
“Well,” the chalk-caked man’s dry, halting speech caused the rest of the group to turn. Unlike the other native, he lacked a tatau that did the translating for him. Through trial and error, he had learned what bits and pieces he could, relying on his native comrade to help translate. “It is because, we are not there no more. We are away.”
The rest of the group eyed him as confusion filled the eyes of the two foreigners. They couldn’t help but study his strange markings despite having seen them so many times before. The chalk-man’s dark skin accented the colorful patterns. On his face, a single line ran from one ear to the other, broken only by his eyelids. Various lines ran up and down his arms, torso, and lower body. They all ran to one focal point, an empty space right in the middle of his chest.
“What the hell’s he talking about?” The woman turned to the larger native man.
“I’m not so sure,” the large native shrugged. “But some of what he says makes sense.”
The chalked-up native let out a burst of quickfire speech in his native tongue. To the foreigners it sounded like an angered outburst even though the man’s face remained even and neutral.
The larger native nodded, lips pursed in a grim line. “He says we aren’t in the Deep anymore. And that we probably won’t go back unless we win.”
“Guess we’ll just have to win then,” the woman mused as she walked towards the outlined boundaries of the arena. “Plus, the sponsors won’t be too happy if we come back empty handed.”
As the group breached the imagined border a far off chime rang. To each member of the group it felt as if the chimes rang directly in each ear. Looking around had no effect on the origin of the sound.
The chiming was accompanied by the odd bubbling of the shadows opposite of them. To their surprise a form rose out of the billowing darkness.
A bald, heavily marked face emerged first. Every inch of the head was covered in intricate, ancient tatau that seemed to dance and flow into and against one another. On the closed eyelids were a pair of fierce tattooed eyes that glowed as they were activated. The face belonged to a fierce, rugged, sort-of handsome man.
Slowly, his eyes opened as the rest of his massive body was revealed. Muscles rippled as the shadows fell away in a reverent cascade. Just like his face, all available skin was heavily marked with intricate tatau. The way they adorned him made all observers feel as if covering any with clothing would be blasphemy.
He wore nothing but a malo, a traditional loincloth, that covered the bare necessities. As the shadow deposited the large man, who stood towering over the group, even at a distance. His tatau activated, flooding the expansive arena with an ominous glow.
With a quiet step, the shadows dissipated underfoot as his tatau settled, brilliance dimming.
His eyes were deep pools of absolute… boredom. With smooth, deliberate steps, the large man began activating and deactivating his markings, mana running up and down his tatau as they flared under his touch. In a show of his athletic and physical prowess, he began a dance.
The woman and the lanky rifleman looked at one another, faces twisted in confusion. As they looked back at the large man they were greeted by him bringing his large hands together in a powerful clap. A sonic wave flared out from the man’s hands as each member of the group covered their ears.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A moment of ear ringing passed before the group of challengers returned their gazes to the large mystery man. As if he hadn’t just caused a deafening sonic boom, the man continued his odd dance.
“What is he doing!?” The woman turned to the large native man who was doubled over next to her with his hands over his ears. She wasn’t aware that she had raised her voice as the native hastily held a finger over his lips, shushing her.
“It’s--” his voice faltered as he licked his chapped lips, throat tatau flickering. “It’s an ancient dance. An invitation.”
The chalky native took a knee next to his comrade, brow lined with sweat as he babbled in his mother tongue. His markings began to run as the sweat dribbled down his face.
“He says,” the large native swallowed, finding it hard to do so as he shielded his eyes from the sight of the man’s invitation. “He says we should go. We shouldn’t have come. And I agree.”
A frightening, oppressive force emanated from the large dancing man as the cadence of his invitation sped up. Each step landed with hard, resounding thuds. Each motion of his muscular arms sounded like the air itself was taking a beating.
“Cowards,” the twitchy foreigner spat, sniffing the air contemptuously. “It looks like a nice little light show to me.”
“We can’t leave anyways,” the woman responded. The rest of her group turned and looked. She rapped her knuckles against the empty space. Quick thuds sounded as her knuckles made contact with a solid, invisible surface. “Guess this is what the chimes were for.”
The rest of the group reached out and laid their hands on the area. They felt the solid surface but saw nothing as an ache began to throb just below their eyes. The sound of a thumping, ragged heartbeat filled their ears before they took their hands off of the invisible wall.
“Guess we gotta fight,” the large native began to walk forward, reaching up to massage the area that had been throbbing.
The large, heavily marked man stopped and held a hand out, motioning for the approaching warrior to stop. Even before he completed the gesture the native had frozen in place. All four members fell to a knee as an oppressive force restricted their movement.
“Please, challengers,” a soothing, regal voice reached their ears. “Be patient.”
Their neck muscles strained against the pressure, sweat dripping from their furrowed brows as they stared at the ground. Each member of the group heaved, finding it hard just to catch a breath.
Methodical stomps shifted the loose dirt, vibrations shaking their vision. They felt the cadence, the meaning, the strength behind each step the large man took. Each slash and motion ballooned in their ears as they found themselves focusing on the sound that his arms and feet generated from his steady, fervent dance.
After what felt like forever, the pressure subsided, easing off of each challenger slowly, leaving them bewildered and wondering why they were still kneeling. As they stood, dusting themselves off, their eyes fell on the wondrous sight. The large man stood, hands clasped at his midriff, as waves of sweat rolled off of his heavily muscled, tattooed body. Each drop splashed into a pool beneath his feet.
“Welcome, Challengers,” his slightly high pitched, melodious voice soothed the aches, pushing them back into mere memories. “I am ‘Ekolu, one of the Tu’i. I apologize for my forceful methods.”
He bowed his head. “I thank you for your patience.”
Warring emotions reared their heads on each challenger’s face. A feeling of peace and protection exuded from the large man’s words but their guts roiled with worry.
“Yeah,” the lanky foreigner stepped forward, voice spiking with unspent indignation. “Well, wasn’t real nice of you to treat us like that.”
The large native turned his head, glaring as he grit his teeth. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me, I got this,” the foreigner whispered back.
“We came here expecting to engage,” he raised his voice once more, eyes darting about as he spoke. “In a fair and honest fight. Instead, we get assaulted by your savage magic. That doesn’t sound so fair, does it?”
“Forgive me,” ‘Ekolu bowed his head again. “I shouldn’t have expected you all to be aware of my personal idiosyncrasies.”
The foreign woman snorted. “Yeah, you’re kinda weird big boy. So, how’re we gonna do this?” Her fingers dug into her thighs, trying desperately to steady her wobbling legs.
“We will fight. Obviously,” ‘Ekolu nodded as he gave his answer. “And I will make a proposition. I will give you all 2 minutes.”
The chalk covered native began speaking in his mother tongue. His words came out in rapid fire succession as the two foreigners looked to the larger native for clarification. The man simply shrugged, palms out as he worked on piecing the fumbling words into a coherent translation.
“2 minutes to what?” the lanky foreigner spoke up as he eyed the still babbling native.
“First,” ‘Ekolu held a large finger up. “Your man has concerns I wish to address. I can only guarantee the safety of two of you. Second, you’re correct, you are not there anymore, you are here. Third, I will give you 2 minutes to land a single blow each.”
The group looked at one another, faces twisted in confusion. The larger natives jaw fell slack as his eyes brightened in realization.
“So, you mean we--”
‘Ekolu held a finger to his lips and shushed. “If you figured it out, you can’t tell anyone else. They have to figure it out themselves.”
The natives' tanned face blanched as his limp tongue rolled out of his mouth.
“It’s only momentary,” ‘Ekolu’s throat tatau flared again. “Just to make sure.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” The lanky foreigner chimed in, brow furrowed.
“And what do we get if we land the blow? What makes you think we can’t?” The woman followed up.
“It’s not that I don’t think you can,” his melodious voice danced through their ears. “I just know you can’t.”
The confidence in his words sent a shock through the group. The two foreigners bristled while the two natives flinched, backs stooping as they instinctively took a step back.
The woman raised her fists as the lanky man took a knee, aiming one of his rifles.
“Wait!” The native spoke as his tatau flared to life. “Wait! We don’t know the terms!”
“Doesn’t matter,” the woman growled, flexing her fists and stretching the tightly wrapped cloth adorning them.
“One minute, fifty five seconds remain,” ‘Ekolu announced.
A bright flash filled the vision of the lanky foreigner. Before the flash faded he was switching rifles, pulling up his second one as the first swung down and thudded against his boot. Bracing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder with smooth, practiced precision, he acquired his target and took his second shot.
As the loud report of the shots filled the arena, the woman rushed forward. Her lips moved as she mumbled under her breath. A translucent, filmy layer materialized around her, clinging to her skin as she moved.
The two natives subconsciously stepped forward, forcibly ignoring the pain in their guts that was telling them to flee.
The larger one drew his povai, a large, ornamented war club that had a variety of metals and gems inlaid in it. They were all sharpened to a point and firmly pressed into the wood. As he stepped forward the tatau that covered his torso activated, shining in a cascading waterfall of mana as his muscles flexed and rippled. His toes dug into the loose layer of dirt covering the ground as he broke into a run.
The chalk covered native pulled a handful of the grainy substance out of his pouch and smeared it on the portions that ran from their sweating fit. Once finished he then took a handful and pounded his chest, filling the gap that he’d left beforehand. The markings charred and crisped, sizzling and adhering to his skin as soon as it was joined. He roared as his body began to morph. Dropping down to all fours, he let out a deep, rumbling growl. His mouth elongated as a pair of tusks jutted out from his top and bottom jaws.
“One minute, forty five seconds left,” ‘Ekolu’s soft voice pierced through the ringing shots. Two sizzling mounds of metal bounced off the dirt floor, searing some of the loose dirt as they landed.
The foreign woman launched an overhand right directed at his face, right toes digging into the dirt as she leaned into the punch. It whipped through the air, hitting nothing. Unperturbed, she continued through, swinging her left elbow around as she deftly stepped into a spinning strike.
The lanky foreigner quickly loaded his two break action rifles, dropping fresh rounds in. With a smooth click, he took aim once more. Another resounding bang before he let the first drop to his side, taking up the second. Exhaling, he steadied his aim. As the woman’s spinning elbow descended he took a shot, aiming just above her head where he spotted just enough of the monstrous man's bald, tattooed head. He figured that the shot wouldn’t drop too much at such a short distance.
With a smooth, imperceptibly fast side-step the large man dodged the woman’s flailing elbow while also pivoting and throwing a huge open handed slap. It just barely missed her head, the pressure from his swing sending her sprawling forward, hands belatedly flying up to break her fall.
Along the shadowy barrier furthest from where the combatants were a thunderous explosion sent debris ricocheting wildly.
Without a moment's delay the natives' ragged weapon descended on ‘Ekolu’s exposed back, casting it’s craggy shadow as it neared its target. The lanky foreigner dropped his rifle and grabbed his second. Again, he let out a quick exhale, set his sights, and fired.
Another seamless pivot, the large muscle bound Tu’i seemed to glide as he shifted his body away from any possible harm. A hand shot out and grabbed the descending povai, his immense grip immediately halting any momentum the large native had built up. ‘Ekolu shifted the halted weapon, just a slight nudge
It exploded amid a rain of splintered wood, sharpened metal, and stropped gems.
“One minute, twenty five seconds.”
A growl filled the air as a sinewy form launched itself at the Tu’i. The figure was odd - grotesque even. It was covered in a filmy, chalky fur that seemed to fall away, floating around behind it as it sailed through the stifling air. Hunched over and on all fours, it moved like an animal but its front legs still resembled human arms, its back legs were an odd cross between a dog's paws and a human's foot morphed into a singular, large hoof. The face was mostly a gaping maw filled with rows of gnashing shark teeth.
Having finally scrambled back up to her feet, the woman turned and rushed at ‘Ekolu, moving to intersect with the flying monstrosity. After taking a few quick, shuffling hops forward, she pushed off her left leg as she launched herself into the air, leading with her muscular right knee.
With a yelp and a noisy tumble, the woman’s knee landed with a sickening crunch on the midriff of the transformed native. Sent tumbling backwards, the man-dog-thing skidded across the dusty floor, kicking up dirt as it slid towards the kneeling foreigner.
“Down!” The lanky man yelled as he raised his freshly reloaded rifle. Behind the woman a large, amorphous blob of shadow rose out of the ground, billowing like a candle in the wind. Silently, the shadowy cocoon shattered and revealed ‘Ekolu.
BLAM! BLAM!
Firing off two quick shots, the man deftly released the lever just beneath the hammer on both rifles, eyes dropping to focus on his work. With a hollow ping, two empty shells flew out, hissing and trailing light smoke. Digging into one of his many vest pockets, the man fished out two fresh bullets and quickly loaded them. With a click and a snap, both rifles were reloaded.
As he raised his first rifle, and naturally his line of sight, his eyes widened as the broad back of the larger native crashed into him.
“Fifty five seconds, challengers.”
Huffing and wheezing, the group scrambled back to their feet. Their labored breathing resounded off the spacious interior of the arena.
“Forty seconds.”
Retreating, the foreign woman rejoined her group. She coughed and spat a bloody glob.
“What the fuck is wrong with this guy?” The lanky foreigner gasped, taking a knee as he checked his rifles.
“Twenty five seconds.”
With a whimper, the chalky natives form began to shift back from the muddled half-animal. The larger native sat next to his comrades as he let the hilt of his destroyed weapon fall out of his grip.
“Yield, boss,” his voice was quiet, defeated.
The woman gnashed her teeth as a droplet of blood ran down her lip.
“Time is up, challengers. Now, it’s my turn. You have 2 minutes. Survive.”