The year was 1795. The Battle of Nuʻuanu was raging, and King Kamehameha I stood at the edge of the towering cliffs of Oʻahu. Below him, the forces of Kalanikūpule were holding a surprisingly stubborn defensive line.

Kamehameha sighed, adjusting his heavy feathered cape (ʻahuʻula). He had tried traditional tactics. He had used the iron cannons provided by John Young. He had even tried spear-throwing. But time was ticking, and frankly, his arms were tired.

He looked left. He looked right. His royal advisors were momentarily distracted, trying to unstick a war canoe from a palm tree.

It’s time, Kamehameha thought. Nobody is going to believe this anyway.

He dropped his spear. He spread his feet into a wide horse stance, kicking up small clouds of volcanic dust.

He cupped his hands together at his hip.

Slowly, a bright, crackling sphere of cyan blue energy began to hum between his palms. The sheer force of the glowing orb rustled the feathers on his mahiole helmet.

“My King!” screamed a warrior named Keawe, turning around. “What is that light?! Are the gods angry?!”

“No, Keawe,” Kamehameha grunted, his muscles straining as the energy swelled. “The gods are just impatient.”

He drew his hands back further, the sparkling blue light illuminating the entire mountain face. He began to chant the ancient, forbidden syllable sequence—a secret passed down through his lineage that had absolutely nothing to do with traditional Hawaiian martial arts (lua) and everything to do with pure, unadulterated cosmic kinetic force.

“KA…”

The air grew thin. The birds in the canopy went dead silent.

“ME…”

Kalanikūpule’s frontline warriors stopped fighting and stared up at the cliff face in utter bewilderment. “Is… is the King glowing?” one asked.

“HA…”

The sky darkened. Lightning crackled across Kamehameha’s knuckles. John Young dropped his musket. “Blimey,” the Englishman whispered. “That’s not in the navy handbook.”

“ME…”

Kamehameha’s eyes flashed solid white. The sheer wind pressure from his aura blew three enemy scouts off a nearby ridge.

“HA…”

He took a massive step forward, thrusting his cupped palms directly at the enemy stronghold at the base of the valley.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

A colossal, blinding beam of blue plasma erupted from his hands.

The beam tore through the air with the roar of a thousand thunders, instantly vaporizing the enemy’s wooden palisades, blasting straight through two entire hillsides, and leaving a perfectly smooth, glassy, glowing trench stretching three miles out into the Pacific Ocean.

The shockwave blew the feather capes off every chief within a five-mile radius.

When the dust finally settled, the entire opposition force had dropped their weapons and were kneeling on the ground, hyperventilating. Oʻahu was conquered. The Hawaiian Islands were unified.

Kamehameha exhaled a thin plume of smoke, dusted off his shoulders, and casually picked his spear back up.

Keawe fell to his knees, trembling. “My Liege… what… what was that power?!”

Kamehameha adjusted his helmet, turned to his terrified council, and deadpanned:

“I named the kingdom after myself. Did you think I was just boasting?”