Demesne Patron EX SS 14 - Open Hand Demesne Mentalism Skills Tournament (Patreon)

The Open Hand Inter-Sect Mentalism Skills Tournament was a yearly joint venture between the Political Sciences Sect and the Tourism, Hospitality and Business Management Sect. No one was actually required to attend, but top winners of the various categories—physical only, no contact magic only, and mixed, all divided by weight class—received work credits that would let them not have to stop doing research, a month's worth of priority reservation privileges in the library, and a prize purse of beads for research material, so it was well attended anyway.

Emdeng knew for a fact that nearly everyone in the Bound Tool Development department of the Mathematics and Engineering Sect had applied, which had resulted in massive elimination rounds, since everyone seemed to have applied for all categories. All the Young Scholars of the various sects had applied, of course, because their research was expensive, and you could never have too much time, library access or funding. There were also the various people who actually enjoyedthe physical aspects of Mentalism training, but seldom had time to indulge because of their other obligations. He, for his part, had applied to try his luck for the funding. One could never have too much funding, after all.

He faced his opponent, a member of the, ugh, Art Studies Sect who, to be fair, wasn't as exasperating as the others. Valt was researching the effects of music, trying to quantify the well-known phenomenon of music affecting mood. Instead of the usual nebulous reason most, ugh, Art Studies Sect members gave about doing it to be able to improve their art, Valt was explicitly doing it for the purpose of creating music that would make people react as intended to theatrical presentations, with the intention of making more commercially successful theatrical productions to make more money. As research goals went, Emdeng could respect that.

The two of them wore loose trousers that only reached past their knees, their feet bare on the thick, carefully trimmed grass of the athletic field. Officially, it was to ensure there was no cheating with secreted pads or hidden bound tools. Unofficially, everyone knew it was because half-naked, physically fit people fighting each other sold more tickets and cheap spyglasses made from paper tubes and lightwisp bindings. Technically they were allowed shirts, but no one wanted their shirts to be damaged, and it was something that could be grabbed.

It was the early part of the tournament, meant to reduce the numbers of their weight division to something more manageable. The area they had to fight with was small, intended to make it easy to get thrown out and eliminated, and they had a strict time limit.

Between the two of them, the referee held up the rudimentary bound tool that would ensure neither of them had built up any magic for a cheap shot. Emdeng and Valt both placed a hand on one of the conductive wires on the bound tool, letting magic flow to the wire as they held their breaths. At the other end of the bound tool, two painted wooden balls was being pushed up inside little cages by the thought force the bound tool was generating with their imbuement. It didn’t take long before both balls fell down, showing the two of them had no more magic inside them. It made Emdeng feel like was sleepy and slightly drunk, the other perceptions granted him by his Mentalism fading without magic to fuel them. His body felt heavy and a little slow, his mind just a hair sluggish as if he'd just woken up, the world seeming to move to fast…

The referee nodded, stepping back and signaling to the other referees. "On the third breath!" he said, as the other referees raised a flag to indicate to spectators their fight was starting. Emdeng and his opponent both stopped holding their breaths and took a deep breath together. Immediately, Emdeng felt normal again as the magic he drew in with the breath spread through him, fueling the thoughts in him. He felt like he fit his body again, and the world slowed to what he now considered its normal rate as his perceptions and reflexes sped up.

"Ready!" A second breath, drawing in more magic, and the world around him seemed to slow. The only thing that seemed to be moving at normal speed was himself and his opponent. Emdeng slowly slipped into his preferred stance with grace, precision and smoothness, moving at the same pace as the world around him even though he knew he could move faster. Right foot back and ready, knees slightly bent, his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to kick off as he felt the subtle sparks of lightning in the air, the silent yet immense pull of the entire planet's presence inexorably flowing through invisible paths from north to south. Arms raised and ready, eyes cataloging Valt, who had shifted into a lower stance, ready to move. From the way they had shifted their weight, Emdeng suspected they would move right—his right— but that could be a feint…

They both drew a third breath, and Emdeng finally felt a small reserve of magic form, became aware again of the impulses that moved his heart, caused his lungs to breath, directed the hundreds of functions of his body. He channeled a little magic into his mind, and the world slowed more as his mind raced, leaving his body behind as he ran through his checklists of maneuvers, strikes, grapples, holds, counters…

"Fight!"

The two of them moved at the same time as Emdeng channeled magic into his muscle memory, darting to his left just as his opponent did, both of them breathing in a steady and regular manner, taking in magic. His foot lashed out, forcing the research musician back to avoid it as they both kept breathing. Emdeng made a schism, arranging thoughts into a formation to create a small part of his mind ready to react if his opponent attacked with thought force of his own, assigning the schism to counter. The schism began to subtly drain his reserves of magic as he pressed the attack, fists lashing out to try to force Valt back out of the ring as he fed more magic towards the thoughts in his nerves, increasing his reflexes and muscle response.

Emdeng was parried, blocked, then his opponent dropped down, trying to sweep his feet out from under him. He leapt up, a formation of thought force that wrapping around his torso in and lifting him further for more height as he kicked towards Valt's head—

His opponent blocked his kick and punched, Valt's own formation of thought force moving with the attack. It wasn't necessary, but a common crutched used by people who weren't very experienced with using thought force in conjunction with their body. Their thought force slammed into Emdeng's own, the formation of thought force around his torso ablating, both formations consuming their imbuement against each other. His thinner layer broke first, and the rest of his opponent's thought force slammed into him in a blunt kinetic impact, consuming the rest of its imbuement.

Emdeng's schism reacted, releasing the thought force still around the rest of his torso, letting the energy launch him back before reforming his thought force and creating a small foothold in the air under his rear foot. It felt like a firm bladder full of thick lard as her kicked off from it for leverage, kicking for his opponent's head again with his other leg just as the pain from the impact to his torso finally made itself known. He imbued thought to block off those pain receptors enough to keep the sensation from being debilitating without completely loosing feeling there. Total numbness was a rookie mistake.

His leg was parried, leaving his center open, and Valt punched directly for it. Emdeng countered, his own open palm strike and descending body knocking the musician's attack down, before using that same palm to grapple his opponents, using that grip as leverage to wrap his legs around Valt's arm and pull him down to the ground.

The two of them fell onto the grass, and Emdeng managed to get one leg around Valt's arm, locking it in place as he finally managed to slam his other foot into his opponent's face. Through the momentary foot-to-face contact, he felt the blow stun Valt, the impulses and thoughts stuttering for a moment, and he pressed his advantage, rolling along the ground to keep his opponent from getting the leverage to reorient himself—

Valt was suddenly launched upwards into the air, both of them lifted three paces up into the air in a burst of thought force as Valt twisted, the two of them starting to fall back down with Emdeng in the very unfavorable position of doing so head first. He kicked Valt away from him, freeing himself to slap the ground with his hands so he could land in a roll. He barely managed to stop one foot from hitting the ground and going out of bounds, leaving him on his back as, above him, Valt replicated his midair foothold—

Emdeng punched, a formation of thought force moving with the gesture, and the invisible kinetic strike slamming right into Valt's torso. Torso unprotected because his thought force was concentrated under his foot, the musician took the full brunt of the impact, making him flip over backwards. Valt managed to recover in midair, twisting and rolling as he hit the ground, but the damage was done as he landed out of bounds.

"Out of bounds!" the referee declared, waving a flag. "Emdeng of the Life Sciences Sect moves to the next round!"

Emdeng sighed in relief, finally letting his foot touch the grass. That sigh became a groan as he felt the stings and aches he'd collected in the brief fight, then groaned again as he reluctantly released his schism and the formation that was blunting the pain in his torso. Wincing, he got back to his feet, turning to face his opponent, who was standing outside the circle marked on the grass with an annoyed look. The two of them faced each other, formed a fist in their right hands, and tapped it to their sternum, saluting each other respectfully. The nods afterwards weren't really part of the formality, but it was an acknowledgement of no hard feelings.

Emdeng stepped off the circle, and the two of them walked together towards the Deadspeakers in the sidelines. "You all right?" he asked. "How's your head?"

"Ringing," Valt groaned. "You hit hard."

"Sorry about that," Emdeng said. "Though to be fair, you went for my manhood."

"Seems a bit of an overreaction," Valt said. "I never actually hit it. Ugh, I really need to work on my spatial awareness, I didn't realize we were that close to the edge. I could have just dropped you there."

"Yeah, you seemed to be putting it all into your thought force. Tell you what, how about after we make sure you're not concussed, we trade pointers? You're better than I am at blocking, we can trade."

Valt tilted his head, then winced. "Uh, sure, why not. No one else in my sect is in this division. Though you've got to win, all right? I'll feel better knowing I lost because you're the division champion."

"I can try?" Emdeng said as they reached the Deadspeaker, who had them sit down as she started laying hands on Valt. "I mean, I'm trying to win the funding anyway."

"Eh, good enough."