[ WP ] Magic is discovered and it 's channeled with music . Modern nations dissolve and new countries rise in their place divided by the preferred music . In the frozen north lie the Metal kingdoms . Far to the south are the countries of Soul etc .

`` Hubris stands alone as a sin routinely punished by the gods.'' said the Kahuna. 
 
 `` Here the millions of the Metal Hordes come to our door. Already millions have drowned. Rage and death only fuel them, power their music and their song, and they can not comprehend how when the rest of the world has fallen or joined yet we the Pacific peoples remain. 
 
 Even now I can hear the growing Shred. The Pedal and the Pick call for our lives. Blood magic.'' 
 
 The Kahuna stood a top the pali, looking down over into the Hawaiian sea. It was black, from horizon to horizon, with boats. The Scandinavian shredders, the blue-faced Valhallans, the metallic Germans, the Rusted Americans. Yet while his advisers shook, while his children cowered, the Kahuna merely removed his clothing. 
 
 Naked except for his plain loincloth, he strode to the edge of the cliff, raised his arms, and closed his eyes. 
 
 `` The Metal hordes have not learned the truth of music yet. It is not the tone of the song, but the spirit of the musician which drives it. This is why the Gospelites never fell, yet the hundred million country westerners fell in days. 
 
 And these fools have not studied history. Are we not Hawaiians? Did Kamehameha not build a heiau to Ku, and there sacrifice his enemies? Did he not slay men for even stepping on his shadow? His mana still here resides, his bones lay deep in the Hawaiian rock. 
 
 The ukelele is the sound of violence so innate, we must cover or else be consumed.'' 
 
 Without speaking further, he held out his hand and received the worn and faded instrument. Already small, it was dwarfed by his large hands. 
 
 Down below, the rampaging army was touching sand. Their metal monsters, the bone trolls, the wicked axes of the beserkers shown in the sun. The Shred grew. Blood would be spilled, and for only a moment the Kahuna lost his mana, and doubted he could protect his people. 
 
 But a young mother behind him began to sing a lullaby to her child, and the words of his own language returned him to the red soil on which he stood. With a sigh he strummed a light and clear chord, in a simple syncopated half-time. 
 
 If the horde had heard they would have laughed. How could such weak sound, unamplified compete with the power which animated the German Mecha and the Celtic Croach? But sea roiled with waking mano, hungry for untasted food. From the rocks awoke the ancient boar, Kane in the flesh. Fire burned bright in the distance as Pele began to rage. And as the first northerner set his foot upon the ancient sand, the stars themselves detached from Maui's hook, and began their descent. 
 
 The soil was red. Soon too would the oceans be, and the sand.
