The group woke, groggy and confused. Bleary-eyed, a few stumbled about, groping for anything to help steady themselves. The Father lay still, his head buried in the lap of the young devotee, his most recent favorite. His pupils pulsed, opening and closing on their own as he tried to focus. Unlike the rest of the group, the young man was fine. He sat quietly, nestling the Father’s weathered head in his lap.

“My boy, when did I fall asleep?” the Father’s voice was weak, feeble even.

“Not long after we arrived,” he answered. “It was a bit of a trek. Good thing we all got some good rest, our first match will be soon.”

The Father scratched his forehead, eyes glazing over as he tried to straighten out his muddled thoughts. He glanced over at the rest of his retinue as they stood out of their seats, legs wobbly and unsure. He found no answers in their sweaty faces and unsteady gazes.

“I hope you all had a chance to enjoy your rest,” a mechanical, androgynous voice spoke up. A Faifekau stood in corner of the room, arms folded behind their back. Their odd bug-eyed mask reflected a light that didn’t seem to exist. “Your first match will commence soon. You can all participate or you can choose who to send out.”

The Father sat up, still rubbing his forehead. “Ah yes, this Advent tournament thing. Can we meet with some of our brethren before the match?”

Some of his group murmured their assent as they continued to pull themselves together from the odd nap. One of them had a large welt on his forehead, busy rubbing at it as he sat on the ground.

“Let me check for you,” without a word, the Faifekau sank into the shadowy ground. It was odd to watch as the solid member seemed to melt, the shadowy ground beneath their feet liquifying and swallowing them. A few of the emissaries gasped but most just ignored the odd occurrence.

The Father let out a sigh, realizing that he’d been holding his breath. Around the room, the rest of his followers shuddered as if an invisible pair of hands with long fingernails had been raked up their backs. The man let his shoulders relax, a slight ache thumping right at the top of his traps.

“Father, I think we should send out a limited party for our first sortie,” his new favorite cooed as stealthily ran a comforting hand up and down the prone man’s back.

“I agree, Father,” added another, nodding furiously. “We need to gauge the strengths of the heathens before we reveal our own hands.”

“Understood. We will send 3. Who will volunteer?”

As if they’d agreed beforehand, all of the emissaries who were standing quickly took their seats. Save for 3 who stepped forward. 2 were young, so nubile, so fresh. They still had some of that fresh-faced rookie charm to them. Their fingers glinted as they balled their right hands into a fist and tapped their chests. Each finger was adorned with a single ring, plain and unadorned.

The third emissary to step forward was the de facto number 2 of the group. A battle-hardened man who had spent many longs years in the field, he exuded the pressure of one with a lifetime of experience. Unlike the rest of his clean-shaven brethren, the man sported a salt and pepper beard that made him look much too wild for a man of the cloth. Like the Father, he was able to use 2 rings on each finger but was only able to use 3 on one of his middle fingers.

“Brothers,” the Father pulled one of his soiled gloves off and held his hand out, palm up. As he did so his various rings materialized, covering his hand in its gaudy gauntlet. “Represent us well.”

The older man nodded, saluting like the two younger emissaries and bowing his head. The Father stood and the test team knelt. One by one, he laid his gauntleted hand on their heads. An intense aura of light surrounded each man, making it seem like they were constantly blanketed by a haze.

“It is decided,” the Faifekau’s metallic voice chimed in, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group as they watched the Father bestowing his blessing.

They tried their best to ignore the cloying presence that was back much too fast but their faces gave away their agitation. A few shook, rotating their shoulders like they were trying to shake something off.

“I have been given leave to lead you to your brethren’s room.”

The Father ignored the itchy, metallic voice as he continued to pray over the representatives. Bags under his eyes, which hadn’t been obvious moments before, deepened as his face became drawn and haggard. His broad shoulders sagged, rounding out and softening as a wispy light flowed from him and onto the 3 emissaries. His chapped lips moved as he mouthed the sacred words, eyes darting back and forth behind his tightly shut lids. With a loud sigh, the Father opened his eyes. They glowed, his usually deep brown eyes glowed and shone a brilliant hazel.

The 3 chosen followed suit, raising their heads and opening their eyes. They gave off the same light, eyes glowing in the gloom of the shadowed space.

“Be safe, brothers,” the Father said, voice little more than a whisper. He suddenly seemed smaller, much more insignificant. He turned, stooping as if he suddenly couldn’t support his weight, and stared at the masked Faifekau. “They will represent us in this match. You can take me to the others, the rest will stay here and observe.”

74870, the young man who was so ready to provide whatever the Father needed, stepped forward.

“Should I come with you, Father? Surely I--”

“No, no young brother,” the Father shook his head. It was an exhausting gesture that seemed to cause the older man some pain. “Stay and witness your brothers.”

A frown crossed 74870’s heavy brow, just for a moment. Then he bent his head and acquiesced.

“Lead the way,” the Father jutted his chin at the Faifekau. Even with his obvious weakness, he was still able to exude his usual haughty confidence. He even managed to stare down at the Conglomerate’s representative, even while stooping and looking up.

---

The 3 emissaries stepped out into the expansive arena, their gaudy jewels glittering with each step. Around each neck sat a large necklace, the two younger men both had a large black gem while the older, battle-scarred man had a bright, opaque gem that shifted in color with each movement.

Their hands were encased in gauntlets of thin gold, connected to each ring that adorned their fingers. The gauntlets ran halfway up their exposed forearms. They seemed flimsy, like little more than a flashy wrapping of gold filament around thin papal gloves.

“Interesting,” the older man was busy studying the etchings on the large pillar they were approaching. He walked with smooth grace. “They even put this much effort into their arenas.”

The two young men were much less graceful. They moved stiffly, eyes forward and unable to move from the huddled figures of their opponents. They hadn’t even heard what their senior was mumbling. It would be difficult to do so, what with their shaky breathing and jumbled thoughts.

The older devotee, 5971, clapped each of his companions on the shoulder with a heavy gauntleted fist.

“Come, let us show these uninitiated the depths of our devotion.”

They froze, backs stiffening at his touch, before their shoulders relaxed. Simultaneously, they both let out long, shaky breaths. The tension in their jaws dissipated as the sound of grinding teeth disappeared. Their palms throbbed from how hard they’d clenched their fists, gaudy gauntlets twinkling with the soft movements.

“Relax, young brothers,” 5971’s voice was soothing, reverberating in their ears as the jewel on his necklace flashed. “We have little to fear. This is but a test, a tribulation for the faithful. We are worthy and we get to pave the way for the brilliance of the One.”

They both nodded, swallowing the nervous lumps that had been making it hard for them to breathe. As one, the emissaries stepped past the imaginary barrier. Chimes tinkled overhead, a melancholy melody that felt both nostalgic and foreign.

Their opponents spread out, a group of 4 natives. They began mumbling in their heavy language, guttural growls causing the foreigners to frown. Their bodies glowed as their bizarre markings flared to life.

“Brothers,” 5971 held up his gold-encrusted right fist, bouncing the overhead light off of the gaudy thing with each slight movement. “A quick prayer, for the success of our endeavors.”

“We pray to thee, oh father, who was one made into three,” the two young men chanted, their voices resonating. Despite the cavernous size of the arena, there was a responding echo. A heavy, bright aura surrounded the three, causing their opponents to turn away.

With surprising power and speed, all 3 emissaries bound away from their spots. Each step caused the ground to ripple as if they were running on water.

5971 crashed into the nearest opponent, gold fist smashing into the native’s exposed jaw. A loud click issued as the bone was dislocated. The natives' bodies stiffened as they began to tip over, joints seizing and betraying them. They crashed into the hard-packed ground with a thud.

5971 turned and pushed off, plowing through another stationary, stunned native before his first target had even hit the ground. A vicious uppercut helped close the unaware candidate’s jaw with a clattering of teeth. They spat, bits of broken teeth, blood, and saliva as their eyes turned, rolling back into their deep sockets. Slow, so slow.

As the older man’s second victim crashed into the ground, the sound of a third body thumping hard against the floor followed.

One of the younger men let out a whine as he rolled around with the last opponent. They clawed at one another, grunting and growling as they rolled round and round. A cut on the young man’s forehead leaked, dripping blood all over the struggling native. He let out a rasp as he broke the native’s grip, freeing his gauntleted hands. Viciously, he folded his empowered fingers around the flailing native’s throat and began squeezing. Lips curled in a sneer, the young man dripped blood, sweat, and tears onto his opponent as he sat on top of the larger, much more muscular native. He ground his teeth, grunting and groaning as he squeezed for all he was worth.

A cold hand gripped the young man’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, brother.”

---

The Father straightened his aching back, shaking his shoulders back and forth. A cold wind shifted his matted hair, sending a shiver through his blessing deprived body. Sweat pooled at the corner of his large nose, dribbling into his open nostril before sliding over and off his top lip. He would have enjoyed the breeze had it not been so mysteriously biting. His hip ached. Old wounds tended to do so now and then.

The Faifekau, walking some steps ahead of the Father, stopped abruptly. With a quick twist and push, an unseen door swung open. The long, dark hallway was quiet. So quiet it made the soft click of the doorknob being twisted sound like a roar, a signal. The masked Faifekau stepped in, holding the door open and beckoning for the Father to enter.

Wiping his face, pushing the cold sweat up into his stringy hair, the Father stepped into the waiting room. Much like the one he and his group occupied, the walls were an odd matte black that seemed to shift as you turned your head. If anything, this room was much brighter somehow.

Sitting on a deeply cushioned couch, 3 men of the Trinity church looked up at him. Unlike the Father and his gaudy group, they were all dressed in drab uniforms. A tell-tale sign of the sister church to the One, they expounded the virtue of simplicity. The only piece of jewelry the 3 men wore were long necklaces that hung low, nearly sitting in their laps. Each chain link of the necklace glinted differently from the last, alternating in hues every 3 links.

“Brother,” the Father inclined his head, offering a rare smile as he addressed his fellow clergymen. “I am happy that we can speak.”

The 3 Trinitymen stood, returning the slight bow while saluting in their peculiar fashion. In unison, each man held up the thumb, pointer, and middle finger to their foreheads. They dragged their hands down in a quick motion.

“Brother, it’s good to see you,” one of the men spoke. He was the eldest of the 3 even though he didn’t show it. The man was small, simple uniform seeming to be just a tad bit too big for him. The only hint of his age were the 2 streaks of greying hair that ran along each side of his head.

“Have we met before?” the Father asked, scratching his temple as he moved towards a seat. The man was accustomed to being treated with deference, even from those who belonged to his sister church.

“Forgive me,” the small old man chuckled. “It has been many years since we last met. I’d offer my name but this island has some odd customs, don’t they? I do believe we became acquainted during your pilgrimage, all those years ago.”

The Father lowered himself into an empty chair, sighing as he sat. He stroked his chin as he thought, giving it a moment. It was more for theater than anything. He’d already made the connection, he just didn’t want to appear too eager.

“Hmm-hmm,” the Father murmured. “Yes, I believe I remember. It is very good to see you brother. It has been a long time since we last saw one another. How long has it been since then?”

The older gentleman smiled as he took his seat, leaving his companions standing at attention. “Oh, it’s been some 70 years now, I do believe. We old fogies seem to last quite a long time.”

“Huh, 70?” the Father’s face froze as he thought over the reply. A tickle in his right temple nagged at him as it grew. “It has been quite some time. But, do refresh my memory, dear brother.”

The little old man’s smile widened as he leaned back into the thick cushion, eyes twinkling despite the near lack of any source of light.

“You attended our seminary as a young conscript. I remember it like it was yesterday,” the man droned on, recounting how he and the Father had met. The experiences they’d had during their training periods, back before they were bestowed titles.

The Father’s eyes glazed over as he immediately lost interest. The older Trinityman spoke of their seminary as if it had all occurred in some far, distant time. But the Father knew better, he knew that he was only 25 years out. Whoever this representative was had ensured they knew who they were talking to.

“Forgive me, brother. It seems this far off land has me a bit confused. It has been some time since my retinue and I arrived. Do forgive me for being so slow in making the connections.”

“Think nothing of it, dear Father,” the Trinityman smiled, eyes closing as his full cheeks pushed his lids closed. “We all have our trials and tribulations to overcome.”

“Is this the extent of your traveling party? I would have expected the Trinity to send more.”

“Alas,” the older Trinityman nodded as he spoke. “This was all that could be spared. What with the Schism and all, even the 3 of us departing from the Heartland has taken a toll on the church.”

“Schism?” the Father frowned as he studied the 3 clergymen. He noticed the frayed hems of their finely tailored shirts, the loosened stitches.

“Yes, Father,” one of the younger Trinitymen spoke up. His voice was quiet, words heavy. “We are not sure how long you have been on this island, but a great many things have occurred since your departure.”

“Such as?”

The older Trinityman’s eyes flickered in the direction of the masked Faifekau, standing in the corner of the room.

“This might not be the best place to speak of such things. Too many ears.”

“It is fine,” the Faifekau’s itchy voice caused the Father to twitch. It irritated him, back tensing. “I will give you privacy. Follow me, famili.”

Out of the corner opposite of where the Faifekau stood, a shadowy figure stepped into the light. The Father flinched as another Faifekau appeared, scarred face sending chills down his spine. This one seemed to have an eternal smile, a menacing crease of the lips. Without a word, the two odd figures exited, the door clicking quietly behind them.

The foreigners took a collective sigh, none louder than the Father’s. He sagged back into his chair a bit, finally feeling as if he could relax now that the eyes and ears of the accursed island had stepped out.

“Father,” began the older Trinityman. “How long do you think you’ve been here?”