That night, Jorel found himself unable to sleep. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the upcoming trial looming over him like a storm cloud. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, Jorel gave up on trying to sleep. His mind was too restless, filled with thoughts of the upcoming trial and the lessons he had learned throughout the day. The dormitory felt stifling, the air thick with the weight of unspoken fears and anxieties.
Quietly, he slipped out of bed and made his way to the common space, hoping that a change of scenery might help him clear his thoughts.
The common room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long shadows across the stone walls. Jorel found a seat by one of the large windows, the cool night air seeping in through the cracks. He let his gaze drift over the darkened campus, the silence outside a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.
As he sat there, his thoughts turned back to the day's lessons, particularly the concept of nociceptive pain. The idea of harnessing acute pain—quick, sharp pain that could be easily controlled—resonated with him. He had managed to create a barrier using the pain in his forearm, and while it was far from perfect, it had shown him that he could control pain to some extent.
But he knew that a defensive skill alone wouldn't be enough for the challenges ahead. He needed something more—something offensive that could give him an edge in the trials, or at this point just to survive in this school.
Jorel's mind raced as he considered his options, each idea discarded as quickly as it came. Then, his thoughts settled on a simple but powerful idea: cutting his hand. It was a direct, acute source of pain, and if he could harness it, perhaps he could create something truly effective. It would be easy enough to do in combat as well.
He stood up, the decision made. He didn't want to wait until morning—there was no time to waste. Jorel moved back to his room, the flickering shadows following him as he quietly shut the door behind him. He grabbed the small blade from his desk, the cool metal comforting in his hand. With a deep breath, he made a shallow cut across his palm. The sting was immediate, sharp and bright, but it wasn't enough.
Jorel concentrated, trying to focus the pain as he had with the barrier. He envisioned the pain taking shape, forming something he could use, anything he could use... but as he stared at his hand, blood welling up from the cut, he felt nothing but frustration and dull pain. The pain wasn't strong enough, and without that intensity, he couldn't muster the energy needed to create anything substantial.
His mind flashed back to the vial he had taken earlier. It was designed to amplify physical pain, to push it to the limits where it could become something more. Without hesitation, Jorel retrieved the vial from his belongings, his heart pounding in anticipation. This was a risk, but it was one he had to take.
He returned to his desk and sat down, uncorking the vial with a steady hand. The liquid inside shimmered faintly in the dim light, promising the power he sought. Jorel took a deep breath and let a single drop fall into the open wound on his palm.
The effect was immediate and overwhelming. A searing pain shot through his hand, far more intense than anything he had felt before. It was as if his entire hand had caught fire, the pain radiating up his arm, threatening to consume him. Jorel gasped, his body trembling under the weight of the agony, but he forced himself to stay focused.
This was the pain he needed—raw, primal, and powerful. He gritted his teeth, drawing on everything he had learned, and began to channel the pain. He visualized it coalescing, taking form, becoming something tangible that he could control. Slowly, he felt the pain respond, shifting under his will.
With a deep breath, Jorel concentrated the pain into his hand, willing it to take shape. He imagined claws—sharp, menacing, and deadly, as primal as the energy that whirled within him—extending from his fingers. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat, each throb pushing the energy further into the shape he desired.
Then, almost imperceptibly, thin, blood-red claws began to extend from his fingers. They were delicate yet dangerous, shimmering with a dark, crimson light that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the pain he was enduring.
Jorel stared at them in awe, a sense of accomplishment mixing with the lingering pain. The claws were exactly what he had envisioned—an offensive weapon born from the depths of his agony.
But as the claws tried to solidify, they wobbled and fell apart. He grunted in frustration and tried once again- focusing now on the shape he has briefly seen before and willed the pain to move under his will. With a steely resolve, Jorel grimaced as he refocused the pain into his hand and willed it to become the deep red claws from before.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the red protrusions creeped out of his skin and formed the outline of claws- but now that he had done it before the feeling was becoming more natural. Grimacing with determination, Jorel closed his eyes and focused all of his being into hardening the claws...
As he opened his eyes he saw them, a set of four claws sprouting out of his hand- sleek, blood red and dripping with crimson light.
Jorel immediately felt the toll it had taken on him. The effort of controlling such intense pain had drained him, leaving him exhausted and light-headed. He knew that while this technique was powerful, it was also dangerous—something he could not use frequently without risking serious exhaustion.
With a final effort, Jorel allowed the pain to subside, the claws dissolving back into nothingness. He leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily, his heart still racing from the experience. The exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket, but despite it, there was a small, satisfied smile on his lips. He had done it—he had created something new, something powerful. Granted, he still needed to rely on a vial to get it to work, but there seemed to be a decent bit of potion left over.
As Jorel finally lay down in his bed, his mind was calmer, the anxiety of the trial ahead now tempered by the knowledge that he had another weapon in his arsenal. Tomorrow would bring its challenges, but for now, Jorel allowed himself the comfort of knowing he was a little more prepared.
Sleep came quickly, and with it, the promise of a new day and the trials that awaited.
Breathing heavily, he sat back, his mind finally at ease. The night was still dark, but Jorel felt a small sense of peace. He had taken a step forward, proving to himself that he could rise to the challenges ahead.
As he finally lay down to sleep, Jorel knew that tomorrow would be a test like no other. But he was ready—ready to face whatever the Maze of Suffering had in store.
The next morning, the students of Raven House gathered in the main courtyard, the air thick with anticipation. The Maze of Suffering loomed before them, a dark and twisted structure that seemed to pulse with the promise of pain and challenge.
The instructors stood before the students, their faces grim as they prepared to explain the trial ahead. The air was heavy with tension, each student acutely aware of what was at stake.
"Listen carefully," one of the instructors began, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "The Maze of Suffering is a labyrinth designed to test both your physical and emotional endurance. As you navigate its corridors, you will face a series of obstacles, each one meant to push you to your limits. These obstacles will inflict pain—sometimes physical, sometimes emotional, and sometimes both. Your task is to endure, overcome, and make it to the center of the maze."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the group. "But be warned—this is not just about reaching the center. The way you handle the challenges within will determine your success. The maze will judge your strength, your resolve, and your ability to control the pain you experience. You will need to work as a team, but your individual performance will also be scrutinized. Those who cannot withstand the trial will not proceed to the next level of their training. Your teams will be groups of three of your choosing, should you have not found an alliance already- today's the day, good luck."
Another instructor stepped forward, her expression severe. "The maze is divided into several zones, each with its own set of trials. The first zone will test your physical pain tolerance—expect traps and environmental hazards that will require both agility and endurance. The second zone focuses on emotional pain, where you will be confronted with illusions and psychological challenges designed to break your spirit. The final zone, the core of the maze, is where the true test lies. Here, you will face a combination of both physical and emotional pain, and only those who can balance both will succeed."
A third instructor steps up, "Now there is one last piece to this trial. This will be your first chance to earn House Points. You will learn more about what these mean later, but for now think of them as your House's reputation. The more you earn the better your House is, so forming teams is encouraged to be done exclusively within your Houses."
The students exchanged nervous glances, the reality of the trial sinking in. This was far beyond any challenge they had faced so far—this was a crucible designed to forge the strongest among them and weed out the weak.
Jorel, Ryen, and Jain stood together, exchanging determined looks. They knew that everything they had learned so far would be put to the test. The instructors' voices continued, drilling in the importance of teamwork and the need to stay focused, but Jorel's mind was already in the maze, preparing for the trials ahead.
As the doors to the maze creaked open, Jorel took a deep breath. This was it—the moment they had been preparing for. Together, the trio stepped forward, their hearts pounding in unison as they entered the maze, ready to face whatever lay ahead.